Garbage Abuse
by Hope Carter
Summary: A Grilo fanfiction. Shilo must rely on the only person she knows, the Graverobber, to teach her the do's and dont's of street life.
1. Larva

**I don't own any of the characters. Any themes relating to Repo! The Genetic Opera are (c) to Lionsgate/Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich. **

**Grilo ahoy!**

**Rated M for future Sexual Content, Violence, Gore, and Language.**

* * *

Dreams were all she had of them. She could only stand a few minutes in her house after the opera, gathering what clothes she could and stuffing them into her bag. She'd been disturbed by the thought that her father, though she'd forgiven him, had probably preformed his repossessions somewhere in the house, or in a room attached to it, at the least. Now, three nights after it had all happened, with her clothes and her wigs and her black outs when Z-addicts and scalpel sluts ganged up on her, the only thing that mattered were the dreams.

Sometimes they came when she was awake. Laughter, unnatural, far away, echoing and nothing to her ears, stubbornly forcing themselves into her memory banks. They take the place of Mag's songs, once so coveted and dear. Amber Sweet had her body burned, hoping to start a tradition. But like the sky, like the dreams, the bodies kept piling up, the clouds did not part, and the dreams would not relent.

Her parents were there, quite often, wavering and still mostly, like the portraits Nathan had kept of Marni in that creaky old house, but somehow they were moving, embracing, kissing and smiling at her, loving her even though they were undeniably dead. One had died giving birth to her, and the other releasing her into her own charge.

The streets were rough during those first few days. She hardly ever ate, and didn't know how to provide for herself, knowing literally nothing of the world except for that it was cold, and cruel in its center, and that nobody cared about the bald girl who wore a black wig and watched them with sad cow's eyes. Three long days, two long nights, the first spent sobbing in the limousine after it had stopped at her front gate, waiting patiently, an unfeeling, yet compassionate machine. Rotti's last gift to her, to her mother, she supposed.

On the fourth day (she could only tell by the ad boards that counted down the time remaining for the deals given by GeneCo) he found her. She still thought he wasn't real, thought he was a dream from when she'd forgotten to take her medicine…so when he'd spoken to her, bemused and more than a little shocked, she'd ignored him, trying to hold on to the dream she felt coming on, the dream of her father, perhaps smiling and laughing with her mother, holding her close….

She grunted harshly when he gave her a hard nudge in the back with the toe of his boot, and rolled her over onto her stomach with the same foot, holding her down. Her wig went askew, and he sucked in a breath.

"Didn't know I was sick, did you?" she asked over one shoulder.

"Sorry, kid," he shrugged. "Wanted to be sure it was you. So this is what you've been up to? Sleeping in back alleys?" She saw it then, the unofficial question: _Weren't you supposed to change the world, Shilo Wallace?_

Shilo didn't answer, and he lifted his foot off of her, and quickly, she stood up. She had thankfully learned that no one, even the Zydrate dealer who had saved her numerous times before, could be trusted, and tensed herself, preparing to run if he even looked at her the wrong way. Nathan would have been proud.

"How long has it been since you flew the coop?" he pressed, circling around her. Shilo remained still, letting him think he had the upper hand, checking to make sure his junkies didn't have any escape routes blocked.

"Three nights tonight," she answered. That was something she could tell him. Telling him that she actually felt elated to see a familiar face, besides the ones hollowed out and empty from Zydrate addiction, would have been a mistake. She wouldn't admit this to him, ever, if she could help it. Eyeing him with open suspicion, she grumbled, "What does it matter?"

"It doesn't," he replied, smirking, his blackened lips quirking in a cruel way. Then he turned, and began to walk away. Before she knew what she was doing, Shilo was running after him, and found her fist balled into a handful of his jacket. "Geeze, kid, let go! Where's the fire?"

"I need…" she began, and he turned slowly, his brows shooting up his pale forehead towards his hairline. She choked on her own tongue as she realized what she'd almost asked him. _I need help. I need my father. I need Blind Mag's songs again. I need to feel something other than hate._

"You need…?" he prompted, both corners of his mouth curving up in a lazy way that made her face burn, and she scowled at the nerves that expanded in her stomach.

"Forget it," she said. Or, tried to say. It came out more like 'frrmmff fff,' past his hand when he cupped it over her mouth and pulled her into the darkness of an alley she hadn't noticed was there. He shoved her against the wall, covering her easily as if she was the tiniest thing, his hand still over her mouth and his arm wrapped like an iron band around her waist. She went by instinct then, and bit into his palm, hard, making him grunt sharply and press her hard into the brick wall. It hurt, scratching her face and arm, the one not crushed against her by his arm anyway.

"Shut the fuck up," he growled harshly, his fingernails biting into her side. Shilo winced when she heard the severity of his voice, and then, the steady _thup-thup-thup-thup_ of…what was that? A helicopter?

Suddenly the pressure of his huge, brutish body and the brick wall was gone, and he was dragging her, faster than he'd dragged her after he'd given Amber Sweet a hit of Z, and she stumbled behind him, tripping more than once. The loud sound of the helicopter seemed to whine a bit, confusing her into looking up, resulting in his harsh swearing again.

"Just keep your eyes on me, kid!" he hissed after jerking her, hard, nearly tripping her. She recovered, and past the haze, past the depression, past the shock and the anger and hatred, she realized…

"The Largos are after me?!" she whimpered.

"Duh, kid," he growled. "Stop talking. Run."

The helicopter's pursuit pushed into her ears for what seemed like hours, when it was really just seconds, maybe twenty seconds. Even when she fell, her knees scraping against the asphalt, he was dragging her, darting through the alleys, the buildings, the piles of bodies, graveyards, restaurants, motels, SurGen consultant buildings, scalpel sluts, addicts, she just kept running, until she felt pressure on her waist and she went flying, landed with a loud thump, her head cracking against something metallic, and then, darkness.

All she could hear for a few seconds was her heart pounding in her ears, and then their breathing. Then the odd purr of the helicopter, hovering for a moment, and light shoved harshly against them in a long, thin line, making Graverobber grunt, and she realized he was on top of her, shielding her, his hand on her mouth again. The light swept past them as fast as it was there, and then the purr…faded.

"You've got some mean people after you, don't you?" he grunted, lifting himself off of her, sort of. She could feel his knees on either side of her legs, crouching over her as the sound of skin on fabric echoed dully. A softer light flickered in the darkness, once, twice, and illuminated the structure they were in. This time Shilo winced, and shoved at his leg, making him chuckle before leaning back against a green…well, something. Shilo realized with an indignant yelp that they were in a trash can, and she lurched towards the door, only to be pulled back by the wrist, falling on her ass. "Keep still, kid. That's just the first wave."

"You live in a trash can?!" she hissed in disgust. His mouth quirked upwards in a knowing way as he shoved a torn plastic bag away with his toe, settling in more comfortably against the wall of the huge, rectangular can, and he shrugged.

"I live where I want to live, kid," he said. He looked like a living skull, with the small flashlight angled slightly under his chin, and she shuddered, wondering where her father's cadaver was lying now. "So. What was it that you needed?"

"Looks like you've already given me what I thought I needed," Shilo said, and his brows shot up again in genuine shock. She gave him a scathing look. "I needed help. Not Z."

"Ahh," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "Guess I have a knack for knowing when a damsel in distress needs help."

"How did you find me?" she asked, settling against the wall opposite of him after shoving some of the rotting, wretched smelling garbage. "I've been on the move since…since then."

"Accident," he said simply, as if he was telling her what color his underwear was. _Wait, what?! Where did that come from?!_ He shrugged, and gave her a slow, disturbing grin. She felt like…well, she felt like she was staring into the grin of a monster, the kind her father had let her read about in those kid's books. "You owe me one. More than one. This is the fourth time I've saved your life."

"Why do I owe you anything? You're a drug dealing, grave defacing jerk," Shilo retorted. To her surprise, he laughed, long and hard. She jumped, ducking when she thought that the GeneCops would come banging on the walls, but they didn't.

"And don't you forget it, kid," he said. No…growled. Suddenly Shilo remembered the story her father had grudgingly given to her…one about an innocent girl traveling through the dark, mysterious woods, and the creature that followed her…what was it? A wolf. He was a _wolf_. He stroked his chin, his eyelids falling down slightly in thought. "Hmm…what do you owe me?"

"Nothing," Shilo said rebelliously, folding her arms across her chest. He chuckled, low and menacing in his throat, and waggled a finger at her.

"Now, now," he chided. "That's no way to show your gratitude, little girl."

"Can we talk about this later?" Shilo groaned, rubbing her temples. He relented, a little she thought, chuckling again and shaking his head before the light went out.

"Fine," he said. "But tomorrow, we're talking business."

~*~*~*~

_You're making a huge mistake, you idiot._ Hello to you too, voice o' reason. Or was this self preservation speaking? _Toss her out and run. Let Miss Fucking Sweet have her. Let the Largo buzzards pick her carcass to pieces, sorry, snot-nosed little shit._ But she was all alone. And a memory tugged briefly at him, reminding him that when he'd first been turned out on the streets, he would have killed to have someone look out for him...he wouldn't have repaid the favor, of course, but having a lookout when he'd first started out. Still. He _did_ have reputation to keep up with.

While she slept, he used the time to meticulously check his guns, vials, scissors and the few scalpels he owned. If he saw any flaws, he threw the flawed item to the side, as he did most of the time in the wee hours of the morning. He could always steal extra vials from the SurGen tents, maybe even a new Zydrate gun. He smiled at the thought. A nice, clean and sterilized gun would mean less chance of disease spreading. Disease meant death, and he made a profit from it, yes, but if it spread through his clientele, well…he was just out of luck.

He usually made rounds, checking the borders of his 'territory,' his 'turf,' to keep tabs on where his Zaddicts were scurrying, who was dealing to them. He was one of the top dealers, but he liked to know if his customers were being loyal and offered a good deal if they up and split on him. Most of his Zaddicts were good about paying him with credits, which were valuable for when he needed to sate his own addictions to whiskey and other hard liquors, but there were some black sheep who could get past him.

No one is perfect, after all. Even in this world.

The kid stirred as he continued his work, but he paid her no mind, switching his flashlight from his hand to between his teeth as he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a relatively clean scrap of cloth. The metal knuckle guards glinted every now and then in the light, blinding him now and then, but he kept using the semi-clean cloth anyway. Clean enough was good for him, so it would have to be clean enough for the Zaddicts and scalpel sluts. He wiped and scrubbed at every piece, every needle, vial and inch of his gun, ignoring her still. This was one big fucking mistake, alright.

What use did he have for a sick kid, anyway? She'd just die eventually. Or were the news clips of Rotti accusing the kid's father…who was it…Nathan, yeah, that was it. Had the over protective bastard really poisoned her throughout her entire life? How long had she been alive, anyway? She was young, he knew that much. But what was too young now?

_She'll just slow you down. Just find someone who's stable enough to provide a house for her until she can get her own damn job. _But corrupting was just so much fun. Shilo was young, nothing more than a child, and had nothing in the world. He looked up from his satchel to watch her again, this time turning off the flashlight and slipping it into his pocket. After a while his eyes adjusted to the semi-dark, so that he could see half of her face, shoulder, and her side illuminated by the billboards, neon lights, and somewhere, the moon. _Corrupt my ass. You and I both know you've had it bad for the poor sick bitch since you first clapped eyes on her._

That was the most disturbing thought of all. Despite everything, despite each enthusiastic swallow of whatever alcohol he could afford, he remembered her face, those chocolate brown eyes, full of fear and disbelief and, as he explained himself, a hint of reverence. Respect without question, born simply from innocence, ignorance, something he didn't find very often. And when she'd been locked out of that tomb, she'd blindly followed him, hoping he could save her. What was the word called? Faith?

No one had given him that. Not anyone. She gave him every ounce of it in her being, and in a grudging way, he respected her for it. He'd seen her entire life play out on the live broadcast of the Genetic Opera, and knew that not once, not until she'd met him, met Blind Mag, not once had anyone told her the truth. Which seemed a small thing, considering how many people she'd known in her life, but the number seemed so small in comparison to the liar's she'd known. The liar she'd called 'father.'

Yeah. He'd keep her around. She'd have to keep up, though, or learn to. He nodded in resignation as his voice of reason, as his common sense threatened to force him to bash his own brains out on the nearest brick wall. Shilo Wallace would be his project officially, his charge unofficially. The Graverobber smirked to himself as he neatly tucked his satchel back into a large pocket in his jacket, and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest and watching his project-to-be sleep fitfully.

She mumbled in her sleep. Argued incoherently, grunted and tossed her legs and her arms, fingers and eyelids writhing. He watched her for the rest of the few hours that he didn't spend sleeping, wondering all the while what she could have dreams about.

"…rr…rob…" His eyes flew open, his head shooting upright from where his chin had been resting against his collar bone. One of her hands was resting near to his thigh, her fingers twitching as if she was beckoning for him to come closer. She purred again, a soft mewl in the back of her throat, distressed and content. "R-rob…robber…."

There really wasn't any choice in the matter after that.

_Next Day_

"What do you mean, your acolyte?" she asked him the next…was it morning? Not really. Closer to three ten in the afternoon, the sun turning the streets a dull, light pewter color. Her skin looked even paler in this lighting, and he wondered if her best coloring came out during the night.

"Acolyte," he said, his voice even and carrying easily, as if he was declaring this to an audience. "A devoted follower or attendant." He raised his eyebrows at her, and steered her towards a soup and food cart. He waited until the server was distracted by a scrap between a few street rats, and snatched two bags and a thermos of soup. He shoved one at the Wallace kid, who stared with wide, shocked eyes, frozen in one spot before he tugged at her sleeve in the direction he was headed.

"I _know_ what it means," she grumbled. He snorted and gave her a dubious, sidelong glance, earning a petulant glare. "So what, you're going to make me start raiding graves?"

"That's just one of the responsibilities that now falls on your shoulders, kid," he said, patting her on the head as he steered her down a few back alleys. Eventually they came upon a dead end alley where a few homeless old geezers were standing around an empty aluminum barrel. They hardly glanced away from tossing paper and other burnable substances into the can as he led the kid past them and to the couch and upturned crates they had set up against the back wall. He sat down on one end of the couch, gesturing for her to sit next to him. She did reluctantly, eyes flicking from him to the men she didn't know, looking ready to bolt. He smirked knowingly at her and handed her the thermos. "Hang on to this. It's gonna be cold where I'm dragging you around tonight."

"We're going grave hopping?" she asked. He looked at her for a moment, his face slack from her apt nickname for it, then threw his head back and laughed.

"'Grave hopping,'" he chuckled, opening his bag and pulling out the stale sandwich. He tore into it in three huge bites, reaching in for the next course. "That's a good way to put it." He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the ancient pudding cup and tossed it at the feet of the homeless old farts, laughing with devilish glee when one of them punched the other to get his grimy hands on it. Beside him, the girl went still as a statue, watching the scrap in horror. He snapped his fingers, catching her attention. "Believe me, there's nothing to it."

"This is what I get for talking to strangers," she grumbled bitterly. He eyed her, irritated that she would even think her father's advice could help her. After what he'd done, she shouldn't put an ounce of belief in any word he'd ever told her.

"If it weren't for this stranger, you wouldn't be alive today," he groused. "Now eat. Before I take your food from you."

"Wait, why would you…hey!" she protested loudly, eyes wide with disbelief and anger now that he was slurping her perfectly safe pudding cup in loud, noisy gulps. To his surprise, and secret delight, she drew her bony right fist back and popped him in the shoulder. He lashed out and grasped her wrist firmly, glaring her down until she shrank away from him a little.

"Eat or be eaten," he growled, causing the fire bugs to chuckle. He cocked an eyebrow at them. "Ain't that right, gentlemen?"

"Sure, Graverobber," one of them said, glancing at his companion. Graverobber decided immediately he didn't like this guy, and was taking in a breath to speak to Shilo again when he interjected, "Or should I start calling you 'Cradlerobber?' I didn't know you had a taste for jailbait."

He heard the kid's squeal of shock when he clasped one hand behind her neck and hauled her into his lap, making a show of sliding his arms around her protectively. The trio went silent, frowning slightly in confusion as he tilted her head to one side with his hand on her chin.

"Graverobber will do, thank you," he said. "But yes, the girl's mine. I'll trust the three of you and your wagging tongues to spread the word."

"Ooh, this is new," the one wearing a stethoscope as a choker cooed. Graverobber glowered at him. "I never thought you were one to stake a claim on anything except robbing rights. What's the matter, tough guy? Going soft on us?"

There was a loud clang when the barrel crashed onto its side and began to roll down the opposite end of the alley, echoed by a feminine grunt of indignation and three collective shouts of alarm. He decked the one who had gotten up the nerve to call him 'soft,' staring down at him and schooling his expression into a blank one.

"Soft? No. But I am staking a claim. She belongs to me," he said, looking at each in turn. "Understand?" There was a mumbled, grudging chorus of 'yessir,' and he turned back to watch as she picked herself up, dusting off the ruffly skirt that only went down so far past her ass. He smirked when she gave him a baleful look, plainly saying _I don't belong to anyone_. "Fair's fair, kid. This is your barter."

"Fine," she growled between clenched teeth, yanking her wig back into rights again. He hardly noticed that it was almost twisted so her part was cutting across her scalp between her ears. "But I'll kill you if you call me your bitch."

"Like I said," he said. "Fair's fair."

_But, for the record, you've just challenged me into converting you into my bitch. Not that I'm complaining._


	2. Pupa

**I don't own any of the characters. Any themes relating to Repo! The Genetic Opera are (c) to Lionsgate/Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich. **

**Grilo ahoy!**

**Rated M for future Sexual Content, Violence, Gore, and Language.**

* * *

An incoherent roar of fury and release echoed through the steel doors of the elevators. Behind his current mask, Pavi Largo lifted one brow, feeling the still slick blood vessels slide across his scarred face. The doors slid open, unbeknownst to the unnervingly familiar pair rutting on the desk of his late father, Rotti Largo. His brother and sister didn't look up, so he took that (and the absence of the sound of triggers being cocked) that he could enter.

"Pavi sees that the negotiations are going well," he said, loudly enough so that his effeminate voice could carry across the room to Amber Sweet and her brother, Luigi Largo. Amber gasped, her perfect, raspberry-pink lips making an innocent 'O' as she looked past one of Luigi's arms. Luigi twisted around, still inside the current head of GeneCo, and glowered murderously at Pavi.

"Get the fuck outta here!" he shrieked. Pavi smirked at his older brother and 'tsked' at him, lifting his pocket mirror to check his hair. It was a windy night for a hunt, but his current face, his sister's previous face, was starting to show signs of growing too old for good use. As his siblings awkwardly rushed to cover themselves, he strolled towards the desk, tossing a clip board down on it.

"Pavi brings good news," he said to his sister. Her now parti-colored eyes narrowed, her mouth turning up in a cat-like snarl as she quickly buttoned up her blouse, but not before Pavi saw the bruises on her breasts, collar bone and shoulders. He had to hand it to his brother; the idiot knew how to leave his mark, though not as effectively as Pavi did. "The sweet bella has disappeared. Will you be requiring the Pavi's efforts any longer in this search? Or may I take my leave?"

"Hold it!" Amber hissed. "She just disappeared? You couldn't find a trace of her? Did you check her house?"

"Yes, thirteen times, each for every time you asked the Pavi to send in the troops to turn it upside down," Pavi said.

"Did you check her mother's tomb?"

"More than once, sweet Amber, a dozen times or more."

"Have you gone through the records of who's leaving the city? Checked plane tickets? Anything?!"

"Anything, good sister, and everything has been checked," Pavi said smoothly, knowing that in her Zydrate high, she wouldn't catch his half truth. Luigi narrowed his black eyes with his back to Amber, but didn't say anything. He was too busy trying to fuck his sister out of her throne to care. If he could distract her long enough, Amber would stop worrying about her, and when she was just starting to kick back and reap the benefits of being top bitch, he would make his move. Pavi knew his plan, though he wanted no part of it. Unlike Luigi, Pavi just flat out didn't give a shit about the company anymore, as long as he got his weekly allowance as an heir for the rest of his life and could get off the hook for his hunts and his trophies. "Now, may the Pavi go? There were some particularly delectable GenTerns strutting down the hall that I must get my hands on before--"

"What about Graverobber?" Amber asked suddenly. Luigi spun on her, a glint catching his eye as he stared at her in jealous disbelief.

"What about that peasant?!" he snapped.

"I saw her, after the fair, with him," Amber said, her voice getting a little muzzy. She giggled and leaned against Luigi, who grimaced minutely, as if some part of his sanity was reminding him how much of a monster he was. "Aaw is my Luigi getting jealous? I did have a life before you, you know."

"Shut up," Luigi snarled, shoving Amber in the direction of her favorite couch. It had been her favorite since Rotti had put it there almost twenty years ago. Pavi was shaken from his memories when he felt his brother shove him in the shoulder, hard. "Check into it. If you find her, give her this," he slipped something into Pavi's hand, and he wrapped his fingers around it, his thumb swiping over the GeneCo full ride pass port. "Tell her to leave. For good. And get rid of that drug dealing street rat if you can, too."

"The Pavi will do as his brother bids," Pavi said, smirking at his brother mutinously. He turned quickly on his heel before his brother could pop him in the jaw, thinking of the angel, who he truly had no clue was hiding, and the robber. With some bribes here and there, he could probably find him, but it would be difficult finding the right Zaddict with the right memory.

But Pavi was patient. And he knew what Luigi had meant when he'd said to rid the streets of the infamous Graverobber, who had evaded GeneCops for so many years. Maybe not soon, but in the future, Graverobber would just be a backstreet legend, with a tragic, bloody ending.

~*~*~*~

Night fell under the vast shadow of the GeneCo headquarters. It was the kind of black that seeped into one's skin, then muscle tissue, then the bones, reminding a person that no matter how hard they squinted, it was impossible to see or be aware of much else. In the darkness, Shilo subconsciously huddled closer to Graverobber, who kindly bumped her with his elbow.

"Quit crowding me, kid," he hissed, eyes narrowed as he focused on the truck waiting near the back of a SurGen building. She glared at the back of his head, and yelped into the scarf he'd wrapped around her mouth to keep her face mostly hidden when she felt something heavy nearly crush her foot. She jerked her leg back, pulling her foot out from under his, as he glanced casually over one shoulder at her. "Oops. Sorry. Clumsy."

"'Clumsy' doesn't seem to fit you at all," she grumbled. He ignored her statement and put a finger on his lips before turning to eye the huge truck waiting across the block from them. What was going on, anyway? As if to answer her, bodies came tumbling from a square hole that opened up near the second story of the SurGen building, landing with loud, yet dull thumps into the truck's open bin. She shuddered when she realized that even GeneCo made mistakes when she saw a child flying out and landing onto the pile.

"Wait for the guards to get into the truck, then follow me," he hissed. "We're going to hit that truck before it goes to its dumpsite."

"Where is its dumpsite?" Shilo hissed.

"Hell if I know," he shrugged. She saw his shoulders tense up, and he turned to her with a purely evil grin on his face before shoving something into her hand. "I put some vials into your coat pocket. Remember, smack it, right up the nose."

"Y-you really think I can do this?" Shilo whimpered, looking down at the Zydrate gun in terror. Why on earth did it remind her of her father, when all the memories she had of him were of his taking care of her or chastising her? She tried not to think about it, or the fact that this was her first night out on Z-duty with him. Only hours ago he'd led her to a shady part of town and told her to wait for him at the opposite end of an alley. It was better to wonder what that girl had done to him to make him shout like that than to think about her dad, she reasoned.

"Not really, but eventually you'll get bored and need to do something other than keep watch," he said. "And don't let me catch you trying a free sample. I'll bend you over my knee."

"Fuck you," Shilo snapped. "I'm not a child!"

"Compared to me you are," he chuckled darkly. "And watch your tongue."

"Oh yeah? Or else what? You'll wash my mouth out with soap?" Shilo grumbled.

"We'll talk dirty later," he grunted, and pulled her out into the street before making a run for it. Shilo only paused for a second before she broke into a run, and caught his hand when he held it out for her, perched on the rim of the mouth of the truck's huge holding receptacle. She hopped up and grabbed hold of the first thing she could, and almost fell off the truck backwards when she saw it was a foot, but was saved by a band of warm, squeezing steel. He gently pushed her forward, towards the pile, which smelled of bleach and death and excrement towards an open patch in the bottom of the bin. "Swear I can't keep my eyes off you for two seconds, kid."

"Lay off, will you?" Shilo replied testily. She watched him for a moment as he pulled out his satchel and the pair of gloves she'd seen him wearing that first night in the graveyard outside her mother's tomb, turning to look back at what the truck slowly passed. "So, um…I take it your…ah…last client…paid well…?" Conversation kept her from thinking about them, remembering them, or building new, disturbing memories of their happiness in her gloom. Even talking about the unpleasant business of his choice (and her responsibility) was better than that. He surprised her when he chuckled softly.

"Very," was all he said, and he started to hum to himself as he continued his meticulous work. It seemed like hours of silence had passed, and Shilo was entertaining thoughts of her father and mother standing at an altar when she felt him nudge her from behind. "Get out your gun. It won't be another thirty minutes. I'll teach you."

Shilo pulled out the gun as he'd ordered, and searched in her pockets for an empty vial. When she pulled it out, he showed her how to attach it to a syringe. He filled the bottle up with the intense, glowing blue liquid, and then how to slide it into the gun, "like a battery." He did this without even once turning her around, so she only heard the squelching noises of the needle piercing the nasal cavity and saw what he showed her.

"You're only to give out the Z if I'm around, do you understand?" he asked her severely. Shilo nodded dumbly as he pulled the full vial out of the gun and handed the syringe to her. She clumsily pulled another empty vial out and slid it in place, as he'd instructed, and swallowed. Her eyes were closed as she turned around towards the pile, and she heard him scoff in the back of his throat at her. "Come on, kid, you've seen worse. Open 'em. Open wide. Just try to absorb the shock now, it'll get better in time."

Reluctantly, Shilo did as her 'tutor' instructed, and would have gasped, had Graverobber not clapped a hand firmly over her mouth. The sound was trapped behind the scarf and his palm so all that echoed in her ears was the crushing silence that deafened her over the sound of the truck's roaring engine. She'd never seen so much…death since the night she'd met him. But this seemed worse, somehow, and struck her in a place that made tears spring to her eyes.

"They're dead now, kid," the Graverobber said gruffly. "They died trying to make imperfection into perfection. Don't cry over them."

"But…that…that little boy," she whimpered. Her eyes remained focused on the broken young man, strewn haphazardly on the top of the pile of pale, dead humans. The back of the boy's skull was just…gone, and where something gray, squishy brain matter, there was…another man's foot. Just sticking up, right up into the boy's skull. She shuddered and closed her eyes again, whimpering, "I can't do this."

"Quit complaining," he groused gently, and taking her elbow in his hand, he pulled her down to his level, onto her knees as he pulled at a corpse. "The boy was probably dying anyway. Parents needed money. Donated his organs when he kicked it."

"Graverobber!" she hissed in dismay, her eyes flying open. He put a finger to his mouth again, and gestured to the corpse he'd pulled out for her to access easily. She tried to ignore the bony mass she could feel under one knee as she shakily stretched her hands out, the syringe in her right hand, placing one hand on the corpse's alarmingly cold forehead. She glanced at him, finding him watching her closely, still as a statue. "Now what?"

His hands were huge, engulfing her's as he pushed the head back, further back until she could see up the dead woman's nostrils. With his other hand he guided the syringe just a centimeter from the nostril, and with a quick jab, she felt the needle pierce the nasal cavity.

"Draw it out," he said. She nodded, licking her lips nervously as she pulled back on the thin band of metal, and slowly, with a barely audible sucking noise, the vial was filled. He didn't release her until the vial was full, and pulled the vial free, gesturing to her gun. She watched him closely as he inserted the vial into the gun. "And that's how it's done." He pulled the vial free and slipped it into the belt that was already laden with six vials full of Zydrate, and waved a hand at her before standing up. "Get to it, kid."

And she did. The night eventually melded into one long blur of gray, dead skin, pink wounds, and being chastised now and then for Graverobber. She didn't say much for the rest of the night, feeling too crushed by being surrounded by so much death after her father's, trying to swallow her own tears. It didn't help much, but she tried anyhow.

She didn't bother to hide her relief when he told her that they had to hop off the truck. They perched on the edge of the truck's, his hand on her elbow, until he hissed 'now' and they jumped, Shilo landing with a rough grunt on her side while Graverobber tucked and rolled like a pro. He was quick to grab her again, hauling her to her feet and dashing with her stumbling after him. When she regained her breath, she saw that they were in a harbor, or near some water of some sort. She dimly heard the sound of water, the constant low hiss of it striking some unseen surface. Right now they were on any old street, probably close to the furthest outskirts of the town.

"Well that was fun," he said conversationally. Shilo shook her head at him, disgusted for a moment by how mellow he was about his own business, but when he started walking, so did she. She was his faithful shadow for a long time before he spoke again. "If it's not too much to ask, speed it up a little. The grab-me-get-yous could get you if you're not within a few inches of me."

"Sorry," she mumbled, picking up the pace until she was just a foot away from him. He made a sound of frustration and grabbed her by the scarf around her face and neck, dragging her forward and closing the distance between them. One of his big arms closed around her shoulders, and she realized after a few twists and turns that his arm was thick as a tree limb, and just as solid. Deciding to try to cheer herself up, she prodded at the muscle in his upper arm. "Those are some guns you've got there. Dragging bodies is hard work, huh?"

"Grueling, kid," he said, and she could hear his bemused smirk. "That harvest wasn't too bad. Usually I have to deal with coffin lids, too."

"Tough life," Shilo said, her words dripping with sarcasm. He snickered and jostled her a little.

"Atta girl," he amended. "The world's dark. You've got to make your own light."

"That's…so sappy, coming from you," she said, pausing to come up with the right word.

"That's so snotty coming from you," he retorted. Shilo rolled her eyes, not buying one minute of it. "Where's that thermos I gave to you earlier? Get some food into you."

Shilo was about to shake her head, fearful that after being surrounded by all of those sterile, dead bodies she might hurl, when she realized that she was way too hungry. They paused in an empty alley, ignoring the distant sounds of a woman shrieking in fear. Shilo squeezed her eyes tight, trying not to wonder what was making her scream as she shrugged off her bag and reached into it for the thermos. When he held out his ungloved hand, she gave it to him. He looked curiously at the cap and scoffed.

"Vegetable," he grumbled, turning a dial on the top and shoving it back at her. "Dammit. Thought it would be clam chowder."

Shilo eyed him before they started walking again, wondering how someone who robbed graves and defaced the dead could be so childish about soup. _To each their own, I guess_, she thought.

_Hours Later_

They didn't make it to the Graverobber's territory by the time they had to crash. Shilo could tell that even he was tired, and couldn't blame him, although she couldn't help but voice her worries about his 'paying customers.'

"They can wait one fucking night," he growled as they prowled the abandoned hallway of an equally empty apartment building. The whole thing smelled terribly, smells Shilo wasn't used to. Finally, they reached an apartment with a door, the knobs and hinges intact. The Graverobber crouched down, hissing for her to keep an eye out for him, and she leaned back against the doorway as she heard him messing with the tumblers with a long wire. At last he had the door open, and held it for her as she slipped under his arm. She found a corner facing the door and settled into it, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankles.

As the Graverobber tried to find something to barricade the door with, Shilo started to wonder who had used to live here, and why. The room was completely empty, except for the counters and the kitchen sink that was nestled in them in the opposite corner. A door in the wall to her right must have been the bathroom, and she could smell mildew. There wasn't a scrap of newspaper on the floor, absolutely nothing to indicate that anyone had ever lived here. It was unnerving to think about the events that might have forced everyone who'd holed up in this entire apartment building out, least of all the people on the third floor, room 116.

He came to join her, sitting back against the wall to her right, pulling his satchel out and unrolling it meticulously. Shilo watched him as he counted, cleaned, checked and double checked every item strapped down into the surprisingly good looking leather. It looked like something a house calling doctor might carry, or a…

"Where did you get that?" she asked, reaching out to touch the corner of the leather. He lifted a brow at her, an expression of _like you haven't figured it out already_ on his face. "Ah," she said, nodding, "should have known."

"Get some sleep," he said. "I'll wake you in a few hours to keep watch."

"A few hours?" she practically squeaked. She supposed her seven hours of sleep last night was going to be a regular routine, but apparently she was mistaken. "I can't live on a few hours of sleep."

"Tough, you'll have to," he said. There was a long pause, and Shilo could feel herself nearly falling asleep when he broke the silence. "You're sick. Don't you have medication you need to take?"

"I'm trying to stop the habit," she said tersely, twisted, angry memories of her father pulling up. She settled down to sleep again, pulling the scarf over her ears.

"What happens if you don't take it?" he pressed.

"Why? Are you worried?" she asked irritably.

"No," he said, "although what little conscience I have left objects to leaving you here if you go into shock. You're useful, for now, but not if you can't function."

"_If_ I do get sick, and I doubt I will, I have some in my bag," she said, pulling said personal item off of her shoulders. She pointed to the front pocket, and opened it up to reveal the cylinder of medicine she'd stashed under a few pairs of stockings. "I managed to fight through the past two episodes. I think I'll be--"

"Take it," he said, not a statement, not a question, but a command. His eyes eventually lifted from cleaning his gun, and he scowled at her, his eyes turning nearly black, standing out frighteningly against his sickly white makeup. It was smudged across his forehead, absent where the few wrinkles bit into his skin. "I wasn't asking. Take it. Now. Or do I have to force it down your throat?"

"Fine, fine, geeze," she growled, pulling out the medication and popping a few balls it into her mouth. She swallowed a mouthful of the soup, the last few swigs swirling in the bottom, and handed the thermos to him. Despite his earlier distaste, he drank all of it, and after cleaning his tools, swiped at the edges with his fingers.

"When I wake up, we're going to head back out again," he said, chewing on one of the mushy vegetables he'd managed to fish out with his long fingers. "I want to make it back before tomorrow. Tight schedule."

"Of course," Shilo grumbled, hugging her bag to her chest before she leaned back into the corner, burrowing into it with her face in the flap of her bag. It was a makeshift pillow, but it lessened the discomfort of sleeping on a concrete floor away. After seeing all of those bodies, her parent's happiness was a welcome escape as she slipped into darkness.

~*~*~*~

Self preservation was a key skill, vital to any person's survival in a cruel, carless world obsessed with filling themselves up with organs that would eventually be ripped out forcibly by a man in a black suit. Any street rat, scalpel slut, Zaddict, and Zydrate dealer knew this. But the grave robbers had to be particularly adept at fending for themselves, and for their clientele. Without them, where would they be? Without purpose, useless fuckers like him could be…well, dead. Or worse, something degrading, somebody else's bitch.

_So, now that you're looking out for the whiny, Goth teenie-bopper, what does that make you? A gentleman? No, that can't be right. If you were a gentleman you wouldn't have let that stupid bitch bend over for you in that alley so she could get her daily fix. And you enjoyed all fifteen minutes of **that**, didn't you?_

With a dark chuckle, The Graverobber neatly folded his satchel and slid it back into its familiar place in his duster. He stood, looking out the window and towards the GeneCo HQ building. Was his sleeping charge aware that she'd traveled more than three miles away from where she'd spent her whole life today? Probably not, he reasoned. Thankfully she was smart enough at least to read; Nathan Wallace, _the_ Repo Man, had given her that much freedom, at least. But she didn't have that much of a sense of direction.

Truth be told, his finding her _hadn't_ been an accident. He'd seen her, the night after the opera, _the opera_, wandering with her back all hunched and her face looking hollow, a defenseless little skeleton in a ruffled mini-skirt. After a half hour of thinking what a pity it was for someone so innocent to be wandering the streets without an ally in the world, he'd gone back to his usual routine…'least, that's what he told that annoying voice of reason.

She'd fended for herself well those first three nights on her own. She still would have to, because he couldn't have her dogging his heels twenty four seven. A man needed space, and a girl needed to grow in her own right. But he knew that he was, for the moment, her key to survival. _Change the world for me_, Daddy Wallace had said. Graverobber snorted, a little angry. What skills would she use? What did she know how to do, other than the bare essentials, and collecting bugs? How could a bug collector change _anything_ except for into a clean pair of underwear?

_And how will converting her into a grave robber change the world, hmm? You want her to be just like you. Gonna drag her down to the lowest low you've ever been, hiding behind the pretenses that you're 'being honest?' Bull shit. Toss her ass on the nearest curve, wave good bye, and don't ever look back._

His inner voice had never been wrong, but that didn't make him like it at all. In fact, if anything, he positively hated it, and not just because it was always his brother's voice.

Thankfully, his memories were put on a backburner when little Miss Wallace jerked awake, a muffled shriek of terror ripping out of her mouth. He turned to her quickly, taking in the fact that her eyes were open, unseeing, and that what color she did have left had rushed out of her face. She'd broken into a cold sweat, was shaking from head to toe, and when she'd shot up, her wig had fallen off completely, exposing her completely bald head. He lurched forward when she tried to stand up, her legs refusing to work after a few inches, catching her before she crashed. She writhed against him, yelps of terror bursting out of her throat, her fingernails biting into his jaw and forehead when she lashed out at him.

"Kid! **_Wake up_**!" he shouted at her face. She woke suddenly, her eyes confused, very close to his own as he tried to gauge if she really was awake. "You alright?"

"I-I'm sorry," she murmured, eyes catching on the painful trenches he felt on his face. He shook his head, brushing it off before releasing her, reaching over to pick up her wig. When he looked her in the face again, she was almost neon red from her embarrassment, snatching it out of his hand and shoving it onto her head before turning away from him. She hugged her bag to her chest tightly, clenching her eyes shut and her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry…"

"This happens every night, doesn't it?" he asked. She nodded after a long pause, glancing at him nervously.

"Sometimes, when I'm awake too," she whispered. His frown deepened, and he shook his head sadly.

"'This too shall pass,'" he murmured. She nodded, burrowing her whole face into her bag, curling into a ball. "Try to get a bit more rest, at least."

"I wish I could forget," she admitted when he'd stood up again. He looked at her sharply, waiting on baited breath for her to continue…for her to say 'can Zydrate make me forget?' "But I don't want to lose what I have left of them…I…I don't hate them for what they did. It's not my place to, anyway." She looked up at him, her eyes almost pleading. "Am I wrong? Should I hate them?"

"It's not my place to say, kid," he said, while his mind grumbled an irritated _Yes, hate their guts out, and hate them until they're dead…again_. She looked at him helplessly, and he sighed through his nose, sitting down next to her. "Look at it this way. You had parents. That's all I'm saying about that. Now all that's left for you is to look forward. Change the world, remember?"

"Yeah," she said, and snorted with a rueful grin. "I don't think this is what Dad had in mind. But it's a start."

"'Atta girl," he smirked. He gestured at her bag. "Try to sleep, like a normal person, this time. I'd sing to you, but you're a little past the age of lullabies."

She smiled in general amusement before stretching out on her side, her bag piled behind her head. Within a few minutes, she had gone still, and her breathing seemed slower, more relaxed. He stood up again, walking to the window to keep watch again. And it was hard not to laugh outloud when he glanced over to see her skirt hiked up over her underwear and thought, _a room with a view_.

~*~*~*~

No one noticed him. No one saw him. No one ever saw him. He was sure that tonight would be no different, what with him being a street rat, but the shadow that fell across him lingered longer than he thought necessary. Drawing his knife, he slowly stood, turning with it angled behind his back to see…

"My name is Pavi Largo. I have a job for you."

* * *

Author's Comments: A bit longer than the last one! 8D And wots this?? Secks?! D: Gasp! And an OC?!?! Inconceivable!

But yes. Reviews are SO appreciated. :3


	3. Growing Pains

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DISTURBING CONTENT. Read with caution!**

**I don't own any of the characters. Any themes relating to Repo! The Genetic Opera are (c) to Lionsgate/Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich. **

**Grilo ahoy!**

**Guide: ***=no memory between the time a paragraph ends and the next starts. ~*~*~*~=change in character. Italicized, centered text that starts at the end of a paragraph=a shorter break in time, the characters do have memories of what isn't written. (Basically, a deleted scene.)**

**Rated M for future Sexual Content, Violence, Gore, and Language.**

The Graverobber didn't walk like a normal human being.

He swaggered.

It amused Shilo during the hours of the next day, watching him as he did this. He swaggered, an arrogant jerk, and he _knew _it. He had the world, the underground world, wrapped around his finger.

And Shilo Wallace found it very amusing to watch him. She did, aptly, as the hours waned, trying to collect as much information as she could. Besides Blind Mag, he was the only one she knew she could rely in…for a little while, at least. So she studied him, studied how he worked with his clients, worked them with all the charm and grace of a ring master, a hellish minister preaching to a group of Zydrate addled brains. He tended his flock with an iron fist in a velvet glove, and his words were almost always dripping with sarcasm, his own special brand of venom. She was careful to stay out of his way, as she had that first night, her opinion of him changing in a constant ebb and flow of emotions that jumbled up into one big cluster fuck of 'confused.'

During the times when he put the Zaddicts in their place for not paying, she was either bemused, the younger sibling watching the older ones getting punished by a truly fearsome father, or a little disgusted. He was a snake charmer, the Zaddicts and scalpel sluts deaf to anything but 'yes' or 'no.' They weren't evil, of that much she was sure, and they were still human. So when he used a bit more force than she would have ever thought using on another person, she winced, and looked away, still keeping an ear on him while she watched the shadows warily for anyone who thought about sneaking up on her.

He raked in a generous profit that night, or so he told her. When they'd first reached 'his territory' (again, her wolf theory resurfaced, because only an animal would lay claim to a piece of land with such primal ferocity), he'd shooed her to a street corner where one of his 'trusted clients' was standing. Her name was Dixi, a few years older than her, but she already looked forty around and in her brilliant green eyes. The color was fabulous, but the pupils had regarded her without reflection, as if like Blind Mag, she couldn't see anything.

"So, you're the Graverobber's new girl, huh?" she'd asked casually after introductions. Shilo shrugged, deciding a straight answer wasn't a good idea.

"I know what I am to him," she replied.

"He fucked you yet?" Dixi asked, her eyes raking at Shilo's body in a bold, lazy way. Shilo snorted angrily, glowering at the older woman, earning a short chuckle. "Guess not. He paying you to tease him then?"

"No," Shilo replied tersely, refusing to relent to this woman. She turned to peer after the Graverobber, seeing him still leaning into the window of the long, black limousine. It brought back vicious memories, so she turned away from it quickly, shutting her eyes for a moment.

"Me and a few of the girls, we saw the opera the other night," Dixi said, stopping Shilo's inner turmoil in its tracks. Something cold formed in her stomach, and she stared at Dixi with wide, sad eyes. Something decidedly human flickered in the depths of her eyes, and she favored her with a brief, chap-lipped smile. "It hurts. I lost my parents, too. A RepoMan got 'em, right in front of me." She snorted, lifting the cigarette she'd been rolling in her hand to her mouth and lighting it. "Right in fucking front of me."

"I-I…I'm sorry," Shilo stammered. Dixi eyed her, her expression unreadable.

"It's not your place to apologize for them," she replied. "So don't…what'd you say your name was again? Shilo?" Shilo nodded hesitantly, and Dixi let out a soft grunt before placing one hand gently on her shoulder. "Look, Shilo. You're in it deep already. Everyone knows that Sweet bitch is trying to hunt you down. If anyone gets too friendly with you, let the Graverobber know. And if he ever leaves you to fend for your own, well…my group could give you a home, some food for a while, place to get your bearings."

"Thank you, Dixi, but…why are you being so nice to me?" Shilo asked suspiciously. "You've known me for all of…thirty-two seconds."

"Yeah," Dixi laughed, "but I warm up to people who're worth it pretty quick. You've got a heart of gold, Shilo. So don't let anything scratch it up, or tarnish it." She gestured around Shilo, "Least of all him. He'll hurt you, bad, if you let him too close."

"You sound like the voice of reason," Shilo said keenly. Dixi's eyes narrowed briefly, and she shrugged dismissively at her accusation.

"I was an innocent for a while, kid," she said gruffly. She looked up when the sound of heavy boots on the wet pavement (it had rained an hour ago, Graverobber had said) and gestured at Shilo. "Take your snot nosed brat and get lost. There's only room for one top bitch on this corner." She winked at Shilo when her mouth fell open, and she felt some of her anger melt a little before Dixi glared at the Graverobber. "Keep an eye on her. Trouble maker, that one. She's just a little black cat waiting to pop."

"I'm collecting first, then she's out of your hair," Graverobber said, holding out his hand. Shilo noticed that the belt he kept his Zydrate was a bit emptier. She hadn't been keeping track, but now a little less than one third was missing. As Dixi grumbled and fished a few credits out of the front of her skin tight top, Shilo wondered why his high-end customer didn't just hire their own personal grave robber.

"Told her she could bunk with me and the girls if you decide to make tracks when she's sleeping," Dixi said when the exchange was made. She looked Shilo in the eye, holding out her hand. "Shake on it?" There was a moment that passed between the three of them as Shilo hesitated. It only took a second, but she saw the emotion that flickered through the Graverobber's eyes. Disbelief, a bit of betrayal… _Don't you trust me?_ those bright blue eyes seemed to ask. She shrugged minutely at him, and took Dixi's hand firmly.

He used a bit more force than she thought necessary when he had her expose her neck to him. Shilo could only try to grasp at the number of scabs on her neck, wondering how many exchanged she and her dealer had had in the past week alone. After the sharp, abrupt whine of the Graverobber's gun, Dixi seemed to become unaware of their existence, and slumped against the nearest wall with a blissful look on her face. He didn't look at her as he gave her his back and started to move.

"Well, I do need a backup plan," she mumbled to him when they walked away from Dixi. Well, Shilo walked…the Graverobber seemed to glide, in a sulky, directionless way. She knew better than that, and couldn't help but wonder if he was pouting because she didn't trust him completely. "It's not that I don't trust you, because I do…haven't you ever heard of 'Plan B?'"

"I understand, kid," he said after a long, tense pause. Shilo let out the breath she'd been holding, smiling up at him when he turned and motioned for her to hurry up. She scurried after him, sticking close while keeping one ear open for the sound of GeneCop sirens. "So, what did you learn from Dixi?"

"People think I'm your…toy?" she said, not knowing the right words to use for what Dixi had thought she was. She had a vague idea, but she didn't feel like voicing it, especially not when he threw his head back and laughed, exposing teeth and throat and his hair falling back and off of his shoulders. "What's so funny?"

"'Toy,'" he echoed, pantomiming wiping at his eyes as if he'd laughed himself into tears. "You're beautiful. Classic. How innocent are you, kid? Ever read about whores like her?"

"D-Daddy always gave me the books I asked for," she said evasively. He cocked an eyebrow at her, smirking.

"No trash novels for innocent little Shilo, then?" he grinned. The insinuations behind his tone made her face flush, and she looked down at her feet for the next couple of blocks, listening while the Graverobber shuffled to his own whistled tune. "Poor, poor kid. If I'd have been half as innocent as you are when I was your age, I don't know what I'd do with myself." He paused. "No, I do. I'd kill myself, probably."

"Well that's a cheery way of looking at it," Shilo retorted. "Since when is being a virgin something to be ashamed of?"

"Well, it's not, if you want to get all defensive about it," he said, lifting his hands, palms facing her and wiggling his fingers playfully. He smirked again and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, his strut more of a stroll now as they neared an alley she remembered them (well, him) dealing in the night before, before they'd hopped into the truck and done their grime business. Eventually they stopped in a dark alley way, and slowly, they were becoming more identifiable, more than just dark walls of brick and desolation. He pulled something from the deep confines of that jacket, the one that had a million or so pockets, similar to a bottomless pit that he had managed to wrap around himself. He gestured to her with the bottle of amber-colored liquid. "Pull your scarf back up. Thirsty?"

"No," she said, shaking her head as she did as she was told. He quirked his eyebrow at her, unscrewing the black top before tossing back a generous swallow. She frowned slightly, trying to decide whether or not when he hissed through his bared teeth that he was grimacing.

"Suit yourself," he said, turning to leave just as she heard someone shouting angrily. "Don't come bug me while I'm dealing. Stay here, melt a little, become one with the brick wall, all that sensei-student mumbo jumbo." He turned expectantly when she grabbed his sleeve, and held out the bottle without a word. Shilo steeled herself, taking a generous swig, but if anything, it just made her dry throat burn even more. Coughing as she pulled her scarf back up, she hunkered down, watching him until he rounded the corner, the bottle's molten red-gold contents catching the light like so many tiny mirrors.

~*~*~*~

He left her unguarded, and Tobias's information on this…Graverobber was only confirmed. The man was being foolish, even if he was trying to shelter the Wallace girl from seeing something she was innocent to. He pocketed the credits and frayed bills Paviche Largo had given him, withdrawing his fist from his new coat as he did so. This would be easy. He wouldn't strike the first night, as the freakish Largo had instructed, but he could at least gather information. He slunk out of the shade he'd watched them from, all the while ignoring the way _The_ Graverobber's eyes tracked him for a moment as he passed under a street light's glow. He was the only one besides Pavi Largo to acknowledge him, but it wasn't out of pity, or amusement at Tobias's poor state. It was in anger, resentment…

Tobias was The Graverobber's biggest fan, and his biggest competitor, and he bore both titles proudly. Now he felt as rich as him, too, and planned on paying the Zaddict whore double for her pretty mouth….

~*~*~*~

_I know you won't listen, but you shouldn't go back when this is all over. I'm going to leave now. Have fun. Oh, and your prick wants to know when you'll fuck the tight little thing. Get back to him about that, okay? I can't understand the caveman's 'speech' patterns._ He probably should have paid attention to his common sense's advice, but The Dog was prowling again. Had been for a while now, and after _him_, of all people. The whole experience made him more irritable than usual.

He watched the street rat slink away with a building rage starting to churn in his gut, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the human shadow seemed to ghost away, floating, gloating silently like the mute he was.

Tobias the thief. Tobias the freak. Among a pack of them, he stood out, even though no one else seemed to notice him until he was inches away from them. But in the past couple of months, Graverobber sure as hell had. And he'd spoken to him, more than once, learning his name by the dog collar the sick little puppy wore. Each time he'd 'apprehended' his only competitor, in his own territory at least, he'd regarded him with quietly mutinous, adoring eyes, as if he wanted to bite the Graverobber's ankles and then lick the blood off apologetically.

Overall, it was really fucking disgusting, but he didn't have to scramble to keep himself in charge. Most of his clients were loyal to him, but now and then, when he couldn't be found, they would seek out help from other dealers, and more than one (both dealers and his clients) had informed him of the poor fashion in which Tobias the Dog had supplied them. Dixi had gone to him more than once, hadn't known his name, hadn't known he wasn't…well, the Graverobber, to be honest, when she'd gone to him. She wasn't the only one. The first to realize it wasn't him who'd given them their hit had wound up dead, after getting the shot directly in the heart.

But as soon as the punk turned the corner, he found himself surrounded by a throng of scarcely controlled chaos. A sharp, high whistle from between his teeth silenced all but the most demanding, a couple of scalpel sluts wearing the usual neon colored tops, ruffled miniskirts and wearing at least two pounds of cheap make up between them. They scrambled to pull out their credits, shoving them in his fist. He made a show of counting them out, slowly, all the while the bubble-gum pink haired one named 'Tweek,' whined like nobody's business. _Will you SHUT that bitch UP!? Goddamn, between her and your dick, I think I'm going to move out!_

"Keep your fucking panties on, Tweek," he growled, shoving their money into his pocket. As all dealers knew, so did the customers know the exact price, and even in their withdrawn panic were freakishly adept at providing the right amount ninety-nine point nine percent of the time. And he felt like providing for them…ninety-five percent of the time. He placed a hand on Tweek's forehead, tilting her head back until the base of her skull was almost resting on her shoulder blades. He inspected her throat for a moment as she closed her eyes, searching for a spot that wasn't scar tissue from being hit up thirteen times in four days, and found the one sweet spot.

A moan rippled across the crowd as Tweek fell, boneless onto the asphalt. Graverobber curled his lip, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he watched her being dragged out of the way of her 'friend.' Despite his friendless state, he found it rather disgusting how nothing was sacred to these people, that even though Koko, Tweek's closest friend, had witnessed and saved her from being killed by her rapist, would treat her like common garbage to get at her hit. Still, Koko had the grace to cringe a little when he shot her a glare, extending her arm with her eyes on the ground.

It took him almost thirty minutes to tend to each clients' needs, and back hand a boy, a little boy in good looking clothes, who implored with him, begging to get a hit and offering to pay 'with other means.' To each their own, but Graverobber was, quite frankly, through with experimenting, and the last thing he needed was some little boy following him around, one was enough.

"More than just that tweenie-bopper trying to get into your pants, huh, Graverobber?"

Casually he turned, at his own leisure, humming to himself as if he hadn't heard anyone until he saw the speaker. Another high-end customer, dressed in her Victorian/Gothic best the wife of one of the CEOs for GeneCo, she just called herself 'Kari,', but demanded that anyone who addressed her called her 'Mistress' or 'ma'am.' The Graverobber found this amusing, since she was no better than the rest of them, just with a well paying spouse who kept her in all the right clothes and supplied with a body guard now and then. She hadn't been around for a few nights, not since the Genetic Opera business, and Graverobber could only guess that her husband had been scrambling to help cover up the mess.

"You would know all about that extremely pleasant, extremely lengthy business, wouldn't you, Kare?" he smirked. Her honey-brown eyes turned black, narrowed into slits. Even so, he knew the darkening of her eyes wasn't due to anger. It was arousal, lust, pure and simple. He felt eyes on him, his mob for the night watching him like a pack of ravenous animals that'd been given their meager scraps of the day, waiting on bated breath for the other shoe to drop. Waving his hand at one of them who was feeling particularly grateful, he sauntered up to her, his grin only widening, his own excitement building. "How about it, Mrs. Kare-Behr? Ditch your baby sitter and let's grab a quickie behind a dumpster somewhere." He lifted a hand and flicked a strand of her neon blond hair out of her face, causing her to slap at his hand, only to strike at empty air.

"Think with your head for once, not your dick," Kari hissed. She glanced nervously at the tall man, one the Graverobber suddenly realized wasn't her regular guard, and spoke in a hushed voice. "Dump the girl. Before she finds you."

"Your concern for my safety is so sweet, Kare," Graverobber crooned, placing a hand over one heart for a few seconds before giving her a short glare. "Now are we going to do business or are you just going to tell me what I don't already know?"

"One, I'm not concerned about you, I'm concerned about people finding out about my private life," Kari spat. Graverobber snickered at that, knowing like the rest of the fucking world knew that her secret was anything but that. "Second, if you get taken out, I've lost my only glow-provider. And thirdly, she'll just slow you down, and slow isn't good for profit in this business. You're not one for charity cases. What's your game with this one? Trying to see how long she'll last before she goes bat shit fucking crazy?"

"Mostly," Graverobber said, honestly. That _was_ one of the motivating factors he had for keeping Shilo around, at least for a while. He knew she'd be a good replacement for him, if she lasted the week. If anyone could, they were a pro in the making. But watching her mind slowly unravel, collapsing in on itself, deteriorating would be worth every moment, every single fucking second. "That is, if she isn't already."

"Just get rid of her before you get into this too deep," Kari hissed. Graverobber rolled his eyes, shaking his head in mild disappointment. Did she really have that little faith in him? She shoved at his shoulder playfully then, all concern for his well being forgotten. "Now, back to the important stuff…are you really in the mood for a quick fuck tonight, or do you want the money, so you can play sugar daddy?"

_This is more like it. I'm glad I stuck around for this._

"Fuck that," he growled. He flicked an eye at her guard, growling, "Get lost." The impassive, human statue glowered for a moment, before Kari snorted and waved at him with one hand. He shoved the rich bitch into a wall, curling his lip as he reached into the back pocket of his pants for the single foil pocket he had left. "For the record," he murmured into the woman's perfectly sculpted ear, "you're going to pay me, too, or I might let my tongue wag a little."

"Cheeky bastard," Kari sneered, even as she slipped the credits into his hand.

~*~*~*~

A hand on her throat jerked her out of sleep. The face of the man kneeling in front of her, pulling the scarf from her face with cold, twitching fingers was unfamiliar, and she hitched in a breath out of a gut reaction that simply told her _scream, scream right now, scream your goddamn guts out_. Something bright flashed in the corner of her eye, and she felt something cool and sharp against the side of her face.

"You're a cutie, but I'm not beyond cutting up something that's just 'cute,'" the man said, his voice surprisingly calm. This only heightened her clear, sharp terror, and she felt her heart beginning to pound, hard and fast as he lifted a knife into her field of vision. "Cute girls shouldn't sleep in the bad parts of town out in the open, you know. Better teach you a lesson."

She screamed, tried to at least, but all that came out was a soft, barely audible wail. It happened in an instant: suddenly, the world went bright, white hot and intense, and she felt pain explode across her face, from her right cheek to the inside of her left eye, forcing a sound of shock and pain out of her lips. Then he was lifting her, throwing her to the ground before he crouched down on top of her, his hand around her throat and holding the knife at the same time, the other fumbling with the front of his pants. Shilo struggled, weakly, feeling light headed as she saw his expression, cold and emotionless.

"You gonna scream for me, little girl?" he snarled. Shilo whimpered when she felt the sharp edge of the blade sink into her skin, just enough to break it, and hissed in a sharp breath, eyes flying open. She became hyper aware of everything, her vision becoming startlingly clear as he pulled himself free of his pants, just enough so that she could see his dick, shoving a knee between her legs with a rough scraping of denim against her inner thighs. He smelled like sweat, alcohol, something metallic, and he was wearing almost all black. His skin was pale, he was breathing heavily, panting, laughing at her meek struggles, the knife was still cutting at her skin, digging deeper, she was bleeding, warm and hot. She was too hot, she was trapped, she was terrified, she was going to die after she was raped, and no one, _no one_ would know.

_I'm so sorry, Daddy_.

***

Someone was shouting. Shilo grumbled, turning over and telling her father to shut the television off, and to close her window, because it was cold. Something warm, a blanket maybe, fell on her with something akin to dismissal, and she smiled despite the terrifying nightmare, snuggling into the warmth and not minding when she felt cool air curling around her bald scalp.

She saw them then, her mother and father, watching her with their brows furrowed, concerned, trying to speak to her with their gray, grainy faces, reaching out with arms that passed through her skin like her hands would through air. What was wrong? What happened? She expected her father to wake her up at any moment, but he didn't. His calm, knowing voice didn't trickle into her subconscious.

"Kid," _he_ said. There were fingers on her throat, on her pulse, her bruised skin, and she flinched awake. Awake, in the street, curled up on the asphalt with a huge, well worn duster draped over her. And…she moved one leg, trying to anticipate pain, mortification at knowing she was no longer untouched, and felt…the same. Completely. Her eyes flew open when she felt a hand touch her head, turning her eyes skyward so that all she saw was The Graverobber staring down at her. "Goddamn, kid. Are you alright?"

"D-did he…am I…what…."

"Did he rape you?" He shook his head, scowling ferociously at something over one shoulder. "No. Can you get up?"

Nodding, Shilo sat up, and he let her do this on her own. When she managed to sit upright, she realized she was thankful that he hadn't touched her as she recalled with disturbing clarity what had happened. She wanted to peel off her own skin, and screwed her eyes shut as she hugged her knees to her chest.

"I-I want to go home," she whimpered.

"Shh, kid, I'll get you home," the Graverobber hissed. "Get up, we've got to get moving." Shilo nodded, feeling a creeping numbness beginning to creep across her, so that all she knew was terror and the tone of his voice, quiet and a little distressed, as concerned as he would be. Eventually she found herself lying down in what seemed like hours later, still wearing his jacket. She saw him leaving and let out a distressed sound.

"I'll be back, Shilo," he promised. Still, she found herself trying to shuffle towards the door, only to be dragged off of her hands and knees a few feet away from the flat surface she'd been curled up on. She practically shrieked when she felt the torn skin on her throat burn, it was on fire, and she heard him apologize at least a thousand times before he pressed a piece of cloth to her neck. He lifted her hand and pressed it against the spot, holding the cloth in place.

"Drink this," he said, holding something to her mouth. She tried to turn away, and heard a frustrated noise. "Trust me, kid. Just drink it. It will help you sleep."

She nodded, and drank, swallow after burning swallow, until she knew she'd downed the whole thing. His laughter sounded too high pitched to be normal, as if something was constricting him and he could only let out so much air. As she fell asleep, sensing him hovering over her, she could only hope he wouldn't let that monster of a man near her again.

"Sorry, Shilo. Won't happen again."

And in her sleep, she knew it was her father kissing her on the top of her head, and smiled blissfully.

**Author's Notes: Sorry about the long wait! I like this chapter, but I'll be adding more onto it, probably tonight. Something seems a bit off. :/ Can't put my fingers on it. Hope you've all enjoyed it so far! There will be more, don't worry.**


	4. Full House

**I don't own any of the characters. Any themes relating to Repo! The Genetic Opera are (c) to Lionsgate/Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich. **

**Grilo ahoy!**

**Guide: ***=no memory between the time a paragraph ends and the next starts. ****~*~*~*~****=change in character. Italicized, centered text that starts at the end of a paragraph=a shorter break in time, the characters do have memories of what isn't written. (Basically, a deleted scene.)**

**Rated M for future Sexual Content, Violence, Gore, and Language.**

_Tobias's Story_

_16 Years Ago_

Two Best Friends, _Nathan_ and _Tobias_…

"Tobias Hundbren. Collect on the Steinberg account. Her payment is two days past due. Return GeneCo's property."

Tobias and Nathan exchanged a concerned glance. It had been a few weeks since they'd been enlisted to become the Repo Men. Nathan had already gone through his first Repossession assignment; Tobias had been waiting on the sidelines, still performing the odd, advanced surgery when it suited him. He quietly shut off his holo-projector and rubbed at his wrist nervously, looking around Nathan's sitting room. He reached up to touch the dial on his neck, turning on the artificial voice box's speaker.

"This should be fun," the thick, recorded voice loop said. He lifted his brows and turned his closed mouth up in a smile, and Nathan chuckled briefly, one of around ten times in quite a while, shaking his head as he held out a short glass to him. Tobias nodded and accepted it, downing the hard liquor in one swallow. When he was done, he swiped at his mouth with the back of one hand, setting his mouth in a thin, grim line. "Wish me luck."

"Every Dog has his day," Nathan said ironically. Tobias let out a short burst of amused breath, the closest sound he could make to a laugh, which came out as a harsh, deep throated wheeze. Nathan waved at him, his haggard face looking darker the closer Tobias got to the door. "Just don't think about it. Just do it."

Tobias nodded, opened the door, and stepped out. He only made it a few more steps before he felt a vicious wave of nausea slap him upside the head, and he had to rush out the gate to retch on the street. Looking up, Tobias wiped his mouth again, looking for any passersby. For a mute, he was extremely particular about appearances, and partially digested pot roast and liquor wouldn't look good on a new Repo Man's reputation. No one was around, and he listened carefully, and hearing no one, he nervously wiped his palms on his pant legs before turning towards his car.

When he climbed in behind the wheel, Tobias Hundbren took a moment to check his reflection, and that moment took exactly thirty seconds, from his hair line to the eightieth hair on his chin. Satisfied that his hair was still coiffed to perfection, his eyes were still black, and his lips were still neutrally immobile, he turned the key in the ignition, and drove away from Nathan's house.

He was worried for Nathan. He'd known him since they were in grad-school, and never once in all of those twelve years had he ever seen his closest friend this…lost. There was simply no other way to put it. The older man was beside himself with grief, fresh and all consuming since the premature death of his late wife, Marni Wallace. Once a tall, proud figure, it seemed to Tobias that Nathan had aged faster than was humanly possible.

Driving away from Nathan's house took all of five minutes, thirteen seconds, and then he was in his own house, a small thing with black walls, except for the wall across from his bed in his bedroom. This was covered with photographs and pictures, hand drawn by Tobias, of himself and Nathan, of course, all twelve by ten feet of them. He smiled gently at the picture featuring Marni, between the two of them, they were all laughing, happy because they were together. Tobias couldn't have picked a better woman for Nathan, although her previous relationships and her preferences for bed partners did earn her a few raised brows from him. She had been kind, though, kinder than Nathan hope for in a wife fitting for a surGEN, and she'd been ecstatic about having his child.

But then, everything had gone wrong. Tobias found himself frowning for his best friend, his idol, feeling his pain as if it were his own. Marni had been kind not only to Nathan and her loved ones, but also to Tobias, often inviting him to dinner when Nathan would forget to.

He was Tobias's inspiration. The man was, if it was possible, his life blood. He'd been through so much in his time on earth, had pulled a child of his own blood from his dead wife's womb, and now was raising her own his own. Tobias smiled fondly, recalling Shilo's smile earlier that evening when he'd made faces at her. She was a strong little thing, her dark eyes full of light and infantile happiness.

Tobias would repossess the Steinberg organs for GeneCo, but he would also return them for Shilo. For Nathan Wallace.

_Thirteen Years Later_

A knock at his door pulled Tobias out of his meditative state. He rose from his favorite chair, walking to the front room and opening the door to find Nathan standing there, in full uniform. His brows shot up, and his hand went to the dial on his voice box automatically.

"Nathan," the voice loop said. "What a pleasure to see you. Is there something wrong? Do you need me to watch the house for you?"

"No, Tobias." Something was wrong. Tobias felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and he reached up to tug at the collar his artificial voice box was attached to nervously before stepping back, gesturing for Nathan to walk in. His friend was carrying his equipment in a large, black bag with GeneCo emblazoned on the front. It wasn't the normal bag he carried. Something was definitely wrong. When Nathan had reached the living room, Tobias closed the door, catching up with him to put his hand on Nathan's shoulder.

"What's happened? What assignment has Mr. Largo given you? Is Mag threatening to leave the company?"

"No, Tobias. I'm sorry for frightening you. But it has to be done."

A shriek of interference, a wire being pulled out of a speaker that was plugged in.

Pain exploded across his throat, burrowing deep into his neck and slamming against the back of his skull.

Something hot burned at his skin, and there was a wail as he felt blood trickling down his chest, looked up at his hero in betrayal as he stumbled down onto his knees.

He tried to snarl at the glowing blue mask looming over him, lashing out, catching nothing but the leathery material of his uniform.

"It has to be this way, Tobias! You're back on your payment! It has to be this way!"

His head slammed into something solid, and he fell, limp and heavy as if he was nothing more than a rag doll. Even as Nathan Wallace robbed him of speech, he could feel the stab-and-pull, stab-and-pull, as his hero, his brother stitched up the gaping wound in his throat. He pumped him full of Zydrate, apologizing one last time before he was gone.

~*~*~*~

She woke up about an hour later to throw up. He didn't bother holding up her hair, since he'd shoved her wig into her bag when he'd found her, just made sure she was poised over Dixi's toilet as she emptied the contents of her stomach while he gave her his back. When she'd finished, he worried that there might have been something foul on that dick weed's knife the second he looked at her face. She was much paler than she'd been at that damn opera, a thin sheen of sweat covering her skin, and she was shivering, eyes wide and terrified, and most disturbing of all, unseeing.

"Dad?" she rasped. "Dad, what happened?"

"Kid, wake up," he said, squeezing her shoulder. She flinched at his touch, trying to scramble away from the toilet and pressing herself against the side of the stained bath tub, her eyes scraping blindly at everything around her. The Graverobber frowned as he reached out towards her, and she flinched again, as if his fingers were tipped with claws. "Shilo, wake up. Don't go crazy on me now."

"There was this…this man," she said, her voice shaking as her hand came up, fingers probing gently at her temples. He nodded, scowling at the wall before trying to reach out towards her again.

"He's dead now, Shilo," he said when she didn't try to pull back. He smiled encouragingly and gently pulled her to her feet, guiding her out of the bathroom and back to Dixi's couch. The street whore hadn't been in the apartment building when he'd come knocking, so he'd picked the lock and invited himself and his almost-rape victim in. The kid was still jumpy as he pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders, trying to ignore the gash in the side of her neck, the one that would leave a nasty scar. "He can't get you again. No one will."

"I had a dream," Shilo said, her voice muffled by the cushion pressed under the right side of her face. He nodded as he counted his vials quietly, waiting for her to continue. "You were…you were dead, Dad."

"Wake up, kid," Graverobber snorted. "I'm not your daddy."

"There was a…an opera," she struggled to remember now, her brow wrinkling with worry. "And this…what did you call it? The monster with three heads?"

"A hydra?"

"Yeah, a hydra," she mumbled. "It had three heads. And this goat man, he told it what to do. He told it to kill a…a siren? And then she fell, onto these rocks, and then you…you were killed."

"Shilo!" he barked. Her eyes flew open, awareness forcing into the dark brown depths, and she gasped harshly, scrambling to sit up and curl into a ball against her corner of the couch. He quirked one eyebrow at her when she looked at him with confused, sad eyes. "Welcome back to the land of the living. How's the tequila treating you?"

"G-Graverobber, what happened to me in the alley?" she demanded. He grimaced and looked away from her, ignoring her question as he finished counting the still full vials. There were fourteen in all, which could last him for another two weeks at the most. She made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, drawing his eyes towards her again. "Please, Graverobber. Tell me."

"Some drunk was trying to rape you," Graverobber said, bluntly. Her face turned green, and he was quickly on his feet, gesturing for her to follow him. "Come on, if you're going to be sick, do it in the bathroom."

She quickly shuffled after him, and he let her stumble into the bathroom on her own before letting the door close. He tied to ignore the sound of her retching, which seemed harder than the first time. It didn't seem fair, even to him, for someone to watch their parents die, be forced out on the streets into the company of a drug dealer, and then almost get raped within the span of less than a week. Now she was puking up the soles of her feet and was in a strange apartment, yet again, and she only had him to rely on.

_I told you this was a bad idea_.

After a few minutes, he heard the toilet flush, and when she came out, she was holding a wet scrap of cloth to her forehead. She didn't look to him for his aid as she made her way slowly back to the couch, and when he followed her in, she was sitting on the edge of the couch, head bowed as she wiped at her bald scalp. It wasn't until he was sitting next to her that he saw she was scraping the cloth against her skin, leaving behind angry read streaks. He snatched the cloth out of her hand, earning a baleful, flat glare from her.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he reasoned.

"Better to hurt than to freeze to death," she said cryptically. He tilted his head to one side as she pulled his coat tighter around herself. "I'm such an idiot."

"A little," he relented after a long silence. She looked up at him sharply, and he raised his hands defensively. "Look, anyone who falls asleep in an alley doesn't know how dangerous one can be. You're lucky no one came waltzing by you before I found you."

"If you hadn't been so busy shooting people up, it wouldn't have happened," she argued. "And are you trying to insinuate that I was asking to get assaulted?!"

"No!" he snapped. "That's not what I meant. And I'm sorry about what happened. But you have to be careful. I'll teach you where to hit a guy so he can't try any of that shit with you."

"Will that even help?" Shilo asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He smirked at her, elbowing her gently.

"If you know where to kick, you can bring any man to his knees," he sneered, and the smile melted off of his face when he saw her expression only become even more confused. "Wait…so you know what rape is, but you don't know how everything works?"

"W-well, duh, I told you," she grumbled, rubbing at her arms nervously. "My father--"

"He kept you in total darkness your whole life," he grumbled, standing up and fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt. "I'm not going to be the one to tell you about all of this. I'll be back. Lock yourself in."

"No!" she yelped, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him back onto the couch again. He snorted through his nose, watching her eyes dart around the room, looking at anything but him. "Please. Don't leave."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a few minutes before moving to the opposite end of the couch. "Get some sleep if you can. Dixi won't be back until tomorrow, and her front door is sealed shut.

"Promise you'll stay?" she asked, in the tone a child would use with a sulky parent. He snorted at how easily she won him over, rolling his eyes as he stretched out his legs, resting them on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Yeah, kid," he grumbled, shutting his eyes. "Cross my heart." He actually traced his fingers over the left side of his chest, earning a quiet, surprised snicker out of her.

***

Something solid crashed down over the side of his head, and he was awake with a string of loud, violent curses as he dove off of the warm, comfy surface he'd been sleeping on, pulling something that felt like a body with him when he landed on hardwood floor.

"Jesus, Graverobber, you scared the shit outta me!" Dixi said, obviously relieved. Graverobber glared up at her after pushing a fold of his jacket out of his face, and belatedly realized it wasn't him wearing the garment. Shilo was beginning to wake up, sprawled across his chest, her eyes squinted against Dixi's light fixtures as they flickered to life. With a grunt he pushed the young girl off of him, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the couch, glaring at Dixi as he cradled his skull and watching as the street whore hid something behind her back. "Sorry. I couldn't recognize you."

"'Course you couldn't," he growled, leaning down to look in Shilo's face. "Get any sleep?"

"A little," Shilo relented, glowering at him, but for what, he didn't know. She turned her attention to Dixi, smiling wanly. "Hi, Dixi. Sorry about…you know. Breaking into your house."

"It was worth it to see Graverobber cuddling with you like that," one of Dixi's roommates, Sondra leered. She darted out of the room as Graverobber stood, cackling like a mad hatter. "Going soft, huh, tough guy?!"

"Don't listen to her," Dixi grumbled. "She looked at either one of them, narrowing her eyes knowingly. "How about some lunch. I'd say some breakfast, but it's a bit late for that. There's a diner across the street. Let's go."

Dixi was out the door before Graverobber had the chance to realize what she was doing. She was taking them to lunch. Dixi, with whom he'd had numerous, violent encounters with, the bad ones outweighing the rest like a rat being weighed against an elephant. He shrugged and gestured for Shilo to follow him, and they trudged out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the semi-dark of the mid afternoon sun. He felt a tug at his hair and turned sharply to have his jacket shoved into his face. When he had shrugged it back on, Shilo was ahead of him, catching up to Dixi. He hid a smirk, wondering at the poor, lonely little girl's behavior.

**~*~*~*~**

Shilo hadn't felt more secure in a long time. It would have been perfect were it not for Graverobber's constant behavior, which varied between flirtatious to thunderous as he switched from smirking at young girls to pouting about the food. Dixi was kind and compassionate in a gritty, hard edged sort of way, playing both the good hostess to them both, even if this wasn't her diner, and she didn't wrinkle her nose and order her to get more than what she'd asked from the waitress. Three chicken strips and French fries were enough for her, but she only fiddled with it, picking off the fried batter and nibbling at the fries while she half expected the Graverobber to shove the whole basket into her mouth.

Dixi was kind to her, and didn't ask her about her parents. She had enough tact to show that she was interested while wholly ignoring the topic of 'family,' and to Shilo's immense and pleased surprise, they spoke for almost three hours without interruption. Despite her career choice, Dixi was intelligent, and Shilo felt that Dixi was enjoying their conversation, too. She did seem a little disgusted by Shilo's habit of catching and preserving bugs, but delightfully so, as if her sense of beauty was a little skewed, too.

"So, Shy," Dixi said quietly when the Graverobber stood up and walked away. He'd mumbled something about 'relieving' himself, and Shilo could only try not to imagine what that meant as Dixi beckoned for her to lean over the hard table. "I won't get mad, but I have to know. Did he drag you to my apartment to have sex with you?"

"No," Shilo retorted immediately, jerking upright. Dixi shot her a meaningful glare and pressed a finger to her pursed lips, and Shilo bowed her head in embarrassment. "I mean, no….no he didn't. And do you have to put it so crudely? If we had, I wouldn't have let him just 'fuck' me."

"Hate to break it to you, kid, but that's all the man knows how to do," Dixi grumbled, almost bitterly. Shilo eyed her keenly, and when the older woman noticed her scrutiny, she cleared her throat. "So. Why were the two of you in my apartment?" She flagged the waitress and asked for a refill on their drinks, watching Shilo expectantly while she squirmed on the spot. "Someone try to jump you? Is that what happened?"

"N-not so much jump me as he…um…well…." Shilo paused for a long time, trying to scramble for a way to explain this with her pride still intact. That felt like the only thing she had left, so it was more than a little difficult. Finally, she reached a point where she was frustrated and angry about the whole thing, and jerked down her scarf, exposing her throat. Dixi gasped, one hand flying over her throat as if she felt the pain ripping across her own skin, her eyes wide with horror. "Some…guy tried to…force me to…you know."

"Jesus, Shy," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. After a few moments, in which her wide eyes flicked from Shilo's face to her wound, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Pull your scarf back up. I'm sorry."

"S'not your fault," Shilo mumbled through her scarf when she'd pulled it up over the tip of her nose, and she saw a pair of blue eyes watching her as she did. The Graverobber stalked back to their table, gesturing for her to scoot back in before sprawling on the seat, his legs propped up across the backs of her thighs. Shooting him a baleful glare, she poked at the sole of one of his huge, black leather boots. "Comfy?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said, not looking at her the whole time. "Dixi."

"Yeah?"

"Do you know where there are some apartments up for rent?"

"She can stay with me," Dixi said firmly. "I'll keep up with her."

"No," the Graverobber said firmly, and then shot her a mocking grin. "The kid was raised by a lying sunnuvahbitch. I don't want her to be taught the ways of life by a bunch of fucking street whores."

"Better she learn from us than from that dick that attacked her," Dixi hissed. That wiped the smile off his face. Shilo tried to shrink down into the seat, but the heavy boots on her legs made it only so possible. "Where the hell were you? Or do I even need to ask?"

"My transactions are my business, Dixi," the Graverobber said coldly. He stretched one arm across the back of the seat, and the two had a heated stare down while Shilo could only sit there and be force choked on the tension. After a while, Dixi relented, glaring away with a sharp jerk of her head. "Now. Any apartments on the market? That isn't yours?"

"There's um…there's an empty house, a few blocks from that upstate graveyard, you know, the one with the catacombs that GeneCo flies bodies in through the ceiling?" The Graverobber nodded, his eyes narrowed as if trying to remember. Shilo saw a young man scramble past him, his face going pale as he went, when he saw the expression, and wondered how many people in the diner were intimidated by his presence. It was then that she realized that the diner had completely cleared out, and she snickered a little. Dixi glanced at her, and looked around the diner with one sweeping of her eyes, and grinned in amusement at The Graverobber. "Your reputation precedes you. You must have cut that dick up good."

"You better believe it," he snarled, bearing his teeth in a feral grin. Shilo felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she glanced down at a white, squishy packet on the table. When she'd poked at it a few times, he snatched it away, and ripped the squiggly top off with his teeth before handing it back to her. "It's ketchup. Drink it."

"I'm not going to drink ketchup," Shilo replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Ew."

"Don't 'ew' it until you've tried it, young lady," he said, shaking a finger at her. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to imitate his scowl, and he laughed at her. "Ooh, scary."

"Try the house," Dixi said, grinning and shaking her head as she pulled a pen out from her thick, blond-streaked hair. She scribbled something down on a napkin and handed it to the Graverobber, whose eyebrows shot up as he read what she'd written. He glanced at Dixi, doubt plainly written on his face, and she shrugged. "It's worth a look, at least. I was considering it for a while when it opened up."

"I'll consider it," he said neutrally. Then he swatted at Shilo with the back of his fingers gently, pulling his legs off her almost numb ones. "Come on, kid. We're house hunting today." He saluted to Dixi, and she stuck her tongue out at him in reply. "Pleasure doing business with you, Dixi. We'll have to do this again sometime."

"Fuck you, Graverobber," Dixi spat as he chuckled, inching out of the booth. She glowered after him until they both heart the bell at the front door go off, and sighed bitterly, glancing at Shilo for a moment. The angry expression melted off, and she smiled gently at her, reaching out to touch the back of Shilo's hand. "Take care of yourself, Shy Wallace. I'm sure you'll love the house."

"He's not going to abandon me, is he?" she asked fearfully, glancing over one shoulder to see him waiting with the door propped open with one shoulder. When she looked back at Dixi, the older woman shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said. "He doesn't let anyone that close. But he's a man of his word, for the most part. If he said he'd keep an eye out for you, that's what he's going to do, unless he gets a better offer."

"Oh, that's comforting," Shilo grumbled with a wry grin. Dixi shrugged again, and wrote something on another napkin before folding it, handing it to Shilo.

"Don't open it yet," she said secretively. "Not until tonight. It's a surprise." Her eyes suddenly seemed too bright, and Shilo frowned in concern as she tucked the napkin into her bag, realizing that Dixi was close to tears. "Go on, Shy. Go raise some hell for me, okay?"

It wasn't until she reached the front door that she looked back, watching as the waitress walked away from her booth. Dixi still sat there, her head turned towards the window next to the booth, watching the world pass by. Shilo swallowed at the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, wanting to rush back and smooth the worry off of Dixi's face. For some reason, this didn't seem like any old goodbye…so she tried to absorb as much detail as she could, the intense green of her eyes, the red-and-blond hair, the teal colored seats and the coffee cup between Dixi's hands. She looked like the last woman on earth, the only one, knowing she was doomed to a long suffered existence.

Shilo didn't realize she'd been walking with him until they stopped on a sidewalk. After a few seconds she realized her legs were unbearably tired, her skin was cold again, and she was tucked under one of the Graverobber's arms, shivering. He jostled her a little, and she looked up to see him watching her.

"Look," he said, pointing in front of them. Shilo gasped sharply when she saw the familiar iron fence, the darkened bricks, windows with those feminine grace curtains, curtains her mother had picked out seventeen years ago.

"Welcome home, kid."

**Author's Notes: Dun-dun-DUUUHHHHHNN! :O The plot….she thickens. Hur. I has ideas! But I need something else to think of, other than bringing in some characters from the movies to have more active involvement.**


	5. Honey, Honey

**I don't own any of the characters. Any themes relating to Repo! The Genetic Opera are (c) to Lionsgate/Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich. **

**Grilo ahoy!**

**Guide: ***=no memory between the time a paragraph ends and the next starts. ****~*~*~*~****=change in character. Italicized, centered text that starts at the end of a paragraph=a shorter break in time, the characters do have memories of what isn't written. (Basically, a deleted scene.)**

**Rated M for future Sexual Content, Violence, Gore, and Language.**

* * *

"I can't do this." She shook her head, closing her eyes as she balled her hands into fists at her sides. He cocked an eyebrow at her, folding his arms across his chest and waiting out the storm. "Please. Don't make me do this."

"It's just a house, kid," he groused. "And it's your house. Ever heard of a will? I'm sure the old man signed it over to you. Even Amber can't touch that. Her CEO's have too much loyalty to the people who put money back into their pockets."

They were standing at the gate, the lock of which he'd picked open, and the afternoon wasn't going to revert back on itself any time soon. He'd wasted valuable time arguing with her, time he could have used to get restocked or to lock down the house, but the first thing he had to do was get her to agree to this.

_She weighs next to nothing_, Common Sense observed. _You could just toss her over your shoulder and use her like a battering ram on the front door._ He smirked at the thought, and she caught his expression, shooting him a mutinous glare before turning and stomping a few feet away from him.

"Kid," he called after her in a loud, stern tone. She shook her head, kept stomping down the sidewalk, and he groaned in exasperation before cutting the distance between them, hauling her after him with his hand around her elbow. "Come on. The house has been searched. If it's being watched, we would have been jumped by a force of GENcops by now. Let's just go look and check to see what damage has been done, maybe we can spruce it up."

"Someone took my mother's body, did you know that?" she whispered. He stopped dead, wondering if she had figured it all out, waiting for her to continue. "My dad had her preserved in the hall upstairs. That night, when I went back, she was gone." She looked up at him, her eyes hopeless. To his discontent, he realized he would have preferred tears to that expression, and frowned. "That was her, with you. Remember? When I helped you down that night?"

"Huh," he mumbled. _Dude. Just say it. Her mom was hot._ For once, he successfully ignored Common Sense, and cleared his throat behind his fist. "So that's why you nearly pissed yourself. What happened to that Z, anyway?"

"I threw it out," she mumbled. "What's it matter? And are you really going to make me go back in there?"

"This isn't the opera house," he reasoned. She looked up at him sharply, stopping (ha ha) dead in her tracks. He shrugged, raising both eyebrows in a simple expression. "It's true. You're not going to find Daddy's blood on the floors in your house. A few broken pieces of furniture, sure, but nothing too bad."

"H-how could you…" she began. He cut her off with a short, rude snort from the back of his nose.

"It happened, whether you like it or not," he grumbled, and pulled her forward with enough force to make her stumble, and then she was walking again, her eyes far away. "It's not going to go away if you don't talk about it."

"I know," she whispered. "But…I still…I just can't…."

"Sooner you come to terms, sooner you can move on," he said tersely. They'd reached the walkway up to the front door, and he released her, stepping back so he could grab her if she darted again. When she looked at him questioningly, he gestured impatiently at the house. "Go on. Invite me in."

"What are you, a vampire?" she said, a rueful grin turning one side of her mouth up, and he mirrored it as she turned and took one step towards the house. He remained where he was, waiting as she took another, step after faltering step, until she'd reached the front door. He felt an odd sense of pride when she reached for the knob, then turned back towards him, her face a little green again as she beckoned with one hand. He made a show of tentatively placing his foot on the first square of concrete, cringing like he expected to step on a land mine, and earned a half hearted giggle.

"Are you planning on opening that door anytime within the next century?" he asked when he reached her, seeing her hand clutching the knob like a vice. She blinked her eyes in a fluttering motion, as if she hadn't realized what she was doing, and ducked her head, releasing it.

"Will…you can open it," she said. He rolled his eyes and took her wrist in his hand, placing it over the knob stubbornly before closing his hand over both and turning, releasing her hand and the knob. She still held onto it, her eyes wide as she pulled it open a few inches. She looked up at him in shock. "I didn't think it would be open."

"No one would rob this place after seeing so many GENcops crawling all over it," he said, waving a hand at the door again. "Open it all the way, please. I'm freezing my balls off."

"Geeze, language," she grumbled, pulling the door open a good three feet before scurrying inside. He followed her, closing the door behind him, and swore under his breath after letting out a long, low whistle. For her part, the kid handled it well, just sighed in disappointment as she looked around at the wrecked marble fireplace, the coat rack toppled unceremoniously on its side. There were some papers littering the floor, and the front stair case directly in front of the door. The carpet was only marred by a few blackened, muddy boot prints, but that could be salvaged, too. She glanced at him over one shoulder. "Come on. I'll give you the 'grand tour.'"

"Still pretty grand by my standards," he mumbled. "You're talking to a guy who's lucky to sleep in a decent fucking dumpster once every week. Nice digs, kid. A little Victorian for my tastes, but it's nice."

"We haven't seen all of it yet," she mumbled darkly.

_One Hour Later_

When he'd absorbed the careless and deliberate damage done to the house, he began to realize it wasn't a house.

It was a crypt.

Nathan Wallace had some serious demons to deal with in the afterlife, but he'd left some of them behind. In the one time the Graverobber had been in the house, he'd started at the sight of the hall upstairs, featuring wall to wall holo-photos of this woman, reaching out towards whoever walked by. Now it was nothing more than a crypt, a mausoleum, and he couldn't imagine living in a house dedicated to a dead woman. Sure, cold women were alluring, but only for so long.

The worst of the damage was in her father's room. Even Graverobber found himself a little more than perturbed by the state of the room, and he wondered if Rotti himself hadn't come to the room and slashed it up with a butcher's knife. Most of the late man's books, which had presumably been on the large and well polished book shelf next to his study desk, which was now just a broken pile of wood, were on the floor, the pages either torn or burned. The sheets and down pillows had been torn, with feathers and white fluff spilling on either side of the four poster bed. Shilo touched the fabric of what had been a pillow in reverence, and then she'd left the room

"If we stay, you don't have to sleep in here," she mumbled when he'd left, strolling into the hall. He admired his own handy work, eyeing the broken glass where Marni Wallace's body had been preserved, and traced a finger around the frame of a now dark holographic picture. "We don't really have to stay here, do we? Won't Amber and the other Largos check here once in a while?"

"They might," he shrugged. "This will be temporary. You can leave if you like. I, however, plan on moving in, for a while. Like I said, these are nice digs." He turned towards her, strolling to the side table next to the plush covered chair next to her. A vase of withered flowers was on the table, and he stroked a paper dry petal off the dying bud. That's when he noticed another door, directly across the hall from the late Repo Man's bedroom. "Hold the phone. What's this?"

"Oh, that's…that's my room," she said falteringly. He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering how the minx had managed to distract him from noticing the door. Standing up, she fished something out of her pocket, and handed it to him. "Here. Go look." He looked down into his open palm to see a simple key, carved out of something that had a filmy reflection, and wondered if it was made from soap.

_What're you going to do now, big man? Seduce her on her own bed, and then book it? Amber has this place bugged, you know that. If she hasn't gotten lazy, there will be all kinds of hell to pay._

This wasn't the first time he'd ignored his common sense. But he did intend to prove it wrong, to a certain extent. He knew that out of all the rooms, her's would probably be the worst. Amber knew how to leave her mark, but it still made him curse softly when he saw the state of the room. A soft gasp beside him told him that she'd followed him to the door. He pushed it open, handing her the crude key as he stepped in after her.

The once been aging, juvenile floral patterned walls were now stained haphazardly with black and red spray paint, the scent of it hitting him flat across the face when he stepped in. The floor was littered with white stuff, and when he bent down to pick a scrap up, the empty shell of what had been a stuffed turtle came up with it. He raised his eyebrows at the words 'murderer' and 'whore' written on the walls, the shredded curtains and plastic hanging from the top of the smaller four poster bed. On the wall nearest to the door, there was a lighter patch of wall, as if a huge piece of furniture had been taken out, and recently. Shilo had moved to the center of the room, staring up at the frame that hung askew over a mantle across from her bed, her hands over her mouth.

He didn't know what he was expecting when she finally broke down, but this was far from it. She let out a soft, bird-like sound of pain, dropping to the floor in a boneless heap. As he found himself standing over her, he realized that he was beginning to deeply regret forcing her back into her own home. There were boxes littering the floor, thick, expensive wooden boxes with bits of broken, dried up insects strewn about, and he felt that guilt intensify. For once, he and Common Sense were on the same page.

_Hug her, dude. Forget keeping your distance. This shit is fucked up. You're not one for comforting, but a little should be enough._

"Sorry, kid," he said gruffly, stooping down to place one arm around her bony shoulders. They twitched now and then, and he realized she was crying. It wasn't just crying, no. There were tears of course, but this was the sort of sobbing that came from the darkest, most miserable part of a person, someone who was forced to realize that in all reality, their life as they'd known it was gone. He didn't push her away when she leaned against him, her fingers clutching like thin iron bands to the front of his jacket, a fingernail digging sharply into his chest.

"H-he's dead," she sobbed, burrowing her face miserably into the fur on his jacket. "Oh my God, he's dead."

He didn't know how long they stayed like that. It must have been hours, and she just sat there, holding onto the last and only piece of her life that offered some kind of a future. He took in the broken lamp, the burned books, shredded sheets and spray paint adorned walls. This was where she'd grown up. He saw an overturned, white object, about three feet tall with a black screen on the top end. He guessed this was some sort of medical equipment, and wondered how many times she had looked to it to keep her living.

"I keep thinking," she gulped after a while, and sniffled, wrenching the scarf off of her face and then her wig. She threw them away from her, as if disgusted by hiding herself. "That he'll show up. I thought, maybe, if I saved my room for last…he'd be here. Waiting for me. He'd say 'Shilo, where have you been?! I've looked everywhere for you! You scared me…'" She choked on her own words, bowing her head. "'….you scared me to death.'"

"We'll fix this place up," he said quietly. She looked up at him, furrowing her brows in confusion. He shrugged. "It's worth a try. You can be saved. Why not one house?"

"It's not my house anymore," she mumbled darkly. "It belongs to GeneCo."

"It can be yours, if you want it," he said simply. "What have you had, that's all your own, in your entire life?"

"Nothing," she said after a moment. "Dad brought me all of my bugs. I'd preserve them, put them in their cases, label them and look after them. But…they weren't really mine."

"Then we'll make this house yours," he insisted.

"How?" she asked.

"You get a job," he said. "I'll keep fifteen percent of my profit saved for the place, if you'll let me live here. I'll find someone to…'escort' you to work."

"Oh, I need an escort now, huh?" she asked him, smiling a little sadly. He grinned ruefully, nudging her arm with the back of her hand.

"It's a shit world," he said. "Now come on. Kitchen's not going to check itself."

"…Graverobber," she said, and he stopped, half crouched, leaning down towards her.

"Yes?" he said, lifting his eyebrows at her. She grinned in amusement despite herself. "What can I do you for?"

"Will you promise me something?" she asked tentatively, reaching over for her wig, her face turning a bit pink around her ears and cheeks. He grinned to himself, realizing she was unused to being this close to him when it didn't involve a life or death situation.

"If it's in my power, then yes," he said. She turned to stare at him, narrowing her eyes after a few minutes.

"Will you promise me to be honest?"

He was silent for a long time. Of course, no one was always completely honest. Least of all him. Or…he hadn't been, to his knowledge, outside of his own profession. But if he was…well, being honest with himself, he had always spoken the truth to her. Shilo was the exception to the rule, and he realized, she most likely always would be.

"I can certainly try, kid," he said, and to his surprise, she broke into a wide, completely elated smile. It was as if the ruined room didn't exist, had simply fallen away as she pulled her wig on and dropped her bag on the floor next to her before standing up.

"Then you really will help me with the house?"

"Sure," he shrugged. She nodded, smiling still as she walked past him. Impulse (and inspiration) struck him, and he stood in time to catch her by the wrist. The only living Wallace turned to look at him, her eyes wide, full of the innocence that would always remain with her, no matter how old she became in the course of a few days. He dipped his chin, staring down his nose at her and letting one side of his mouth curl up. "But only on one condition."

"…what's that?" she asked, turning her head to one side. The innocence was gone now, replaced by suspicion, and wariness. What had Dixi told her? He'd have to stamp those truths out, implant some of his own. But for the time being, he'd be the monster she thought of him, because she planted the seed, nurtured it with her stubborn belief. He cupped one hand behind her neck, holding her firmly in place as he leaned down.

"Let's seal this agreement with a kiss."

_Oh, fuck you. I'm out._ All of Common Sense left him in an instant.

He didn't give her a chance to do more than suck in a breath before his mouth was on her's.

**~*~*~*~**

Heat infused her face in an instant, spreading to her neck, down, lower and lower, until she squirmed. Suddenly, her underwear and her bra felt too tight, her clothes were on fire, and _he was kissing her_.

This wasn't just a pressing of lips against lip's either. The second she'd opened her mouth to protest, his lips had stroked hers in an unhurried motion, as if he had all the time in the world, with his hand clamped at her neck, and she squeaked in alarm. His huge body was curled over her's, stooped down and shielding her from the world, keeping her all to himself. His hand could have easily crushed her neck; she could feel that when she tried to push him away and he just tightened his grip on her, his lips slanting against her's as he turned his head to one side.

_This cannot be happening_, her mind wailed. But her body was saying something entirely different: this was happening, and when his tongue stroked powerfully, demanding, between her lips, exploring her mouth, she whimpered. Not in fear, or disgust…but with something entirely different, something she wasn't really sure she wanted to name. His hand had moved from her wrist to her elbow, and he pulled it up, wrapping her arm around his midriff, encouraging her to hold him back. This was her first kiss, and instinct told her that if she didn't pull back, soon it could become a lot more.

When she did jerk her head back, however, he punished her; she yelped into his mouth when his teeth bit down on her lower lip, and she felt it swelling when he sucked it between his teeth. He pulled back just enough, and her eyes flew open, meeting his as he sucked rapidly on her lower lip, driving her out of her mind. She heard him chuckle, a low, throaty chuckle, closer to a growl, and shivered, her arms instinctively clenching around him, fingers digging into his back and forcing a grunt out of him.

The pace had been unhurried before, but there was desperation to it now. Shilo sensed it, and felt her stomach flutter nervously even as she responded in kind, albeit a little hesitantly. He let out a very human sound, something between excitement and anguish when she thrust her tongue forward, and he darted his around it. She felt her head beginning to spin, and couldn't do anything when he started to thrust his tongue in, deep, rapid movements that forced a sound out from the back of her throat.

"Jesus, kid," he grunted, pushing her away from him. She just stood there, staring at him, her heart pounding in her ears, throbbing in her temple and down lower, to the point that she was aching. He shook his head, his mouth turned up in a shocked, pleased grin. "Deal's a deal. I'll help you with the house." He leaned closer, just enough that she could feel his body heat. "And we will be doing _that_ again."

_A Few Hours Later_

Her first adventured had certainly seemed like the adventure of her life time. But the night of the Genetic Opera couldn't compare to her first trip to the grocery store.

Leave it to The Graverobber to send her to the nearest store by herself after kissing her senseless. She'd known him for a short time, but it seemed like something he did out of second nature, like breathing. Fortunately, she had her scarves wrapped around her head, his credits in the front of her shirt (his instructions), and his knife in her boot, but still, she was jumping at shadows as she wandered aimlessly through each aisle.

He'd given her a list of things that he at least wanted, and things he insisted that they needed. She'd openly scoffed at him when he'd argued the point that shampoo was more important than more than one breakfast cereal.

"My personal hygiene is my business, so get the shampoo, dammit," he'd vehemently argued, and she found herself putting a neon pink bottle into the basket, shrugging. That might teach him to treat her with _some_ respect, but then again, it might not. Still, she found herself snickering as she scurried home with the bags, seven in all, wondering at his reaction. She'd let him find it on his own, deciding it would be more hysterical that way.

He was sleeping in the kitchen when she got back, slumped over the table on the one chair still holding itself up on four legs. Rolling her eyes, she dumped the bags on the table, and he jerked upright, one hand going to his belt out of reflex for his second knife. She cleared her throat, and he scowled murderously.

"Was that necessary?" he asked irritably, reaching towards the bags. She heard him pawing through the contents as she took the one with the bathroom accoutrements upstairs, and giggled nervously when she heard him let out a string of curses that made her take the steps two at a time. "Fuck! Kid, where's the beer?!"

"The lady wouldn't let me buy it!" she called down, setting the bag behind the bathroom door. She looked around, sighing through her nose at the state of the room. Out of all of them, this one seemed to have gotten the least amount of damage. She decided if she couldn't fix her bed up by tonight, this was where she'd sleep. "She asked for my ID, and I said I'd left it at home."

"Fucking…of all the times to get nosy about who's putting money into their till," he growled when she entered the kitchen again. He was still sitting in the same spot, and she raised an eyebrow at the state of the bags: practically ripped to shreds, with their contents carelessly thrown across the table. He folded his arms across his chest, sulking like…well, like her. She had to admit, she was less than amused, but didn't say anything as she put everything up, letting him stew in his own funk for a while.

While she did, a part of her wondered at how her father might have done his shopping. They had looked through the cupboards to find mostly hypo-allergenic canned foods, all of which The Graverobber had wrinkled his nose at and said to toss out. Shilo hard argued that she might need them, if she really was sick, and he relented after some persuasion.

Luckily, that persuasion didn't involve her mouth, his mouth, and no space between either one.

"I don't cook very often," he'd remarked after giving her the list of things they needed. "So I warn you. If I catch the house on fire, I blame you."

"How the hell is it my fault?" she'd asked irritably. He shrugged, giving her a cheeky grin.

"Hey, the house isn't under my name, is it?"

So they'd ended up with more cans, and some 'instant noodles.' Shilo poked experimentally at the packages of ten before shoving them into the cupboard next to what The Graverobber had called 'the dishwasher,' and soon placed the bread and other room temperature foodstuffs in with them.

"Where's your pots and pans?" he asked suddenly, making her jump. They hadn't found those, yet, so it took her about five minutes before she found a locked pair of cupboard doors. She twisted around from where she'd crouched next to them, pointing at the padlock.

"Dad must have locked them up," she said, and he groaned in loud, frustrated exasperation as he stood up and sauntered over to her. She was on her feet as he stooped down, earning herself an amused, knowing look as he pulled a thin, metal pointer out of his belt.

"Kid, have I gotten you all skittish, now?" he asked nonchalantly after a while. She heard a loud click, and he tossed the lock onto the counter before pulling the cupboard open. "Jackpot. Here," he said, pulling out a large metal pot and extending it to her, "put water in this from the tap, if we've got it."

Shilo did as she was asked, and held the water-filled pot as he rifled through her cupboard for about an hour. He kept making these frustrated noises, and eventually she put down the pot on the counter, curious to peer around him to see what he was doing. After a second, she realized that he was organizing everything, and she snickered behind her hand.

"What can I expect from a teenager, though?" he grumbled, and eventually turned around with a couple of cans and some of the instant noodles packages in his hands. He shooed her to the table, frowning in obvious irritation. "Try and remember to keep that stuff organized."

"Oh yeah, all twenty of them," she grumbled. He ignored her for a while as he placed the pot on the stove, turning one of the dials on the front. There was a soft _clickclickclick_, and then a small ring of fire lit up under the pot. Her eyebrows shot up as he turned to the noodle packages, ripping them open with his teeth.

"You didn't answer my question," he said as he pulled about five pale, wheat colored squares out of the packs. Shilo squinted at them, but couldn't really tell what they were as he pinned her with a hard stare. "Do I make you nervous?"

"N-no," she lied, and whispered a soft "_shit_," shrinking under the devilish grin that slowly spread across his face. She felt the same fluttering in her stomach, the one she'd felt when they had encountered Amber and he'd held her shoulders in his hands, the one she'd felt when he'd insisted they 'seal the deal.' Suddenly he was beside her, stooping so that his face was in her's. Some of his hair fell across her shoulders, but it didn't shift across his scalp like her's would have, and she felt a twinge of envy for him, even as she was almost impulsive enough to touch his hair.

"I think I make you very nervous, little Miss Shilo Wallace," he stated plainly. "And to be honest, it gives me my sick kicks. Seeing you squirm is turning out to be quite the spectacle." He let his eyes roam all over her, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat when he curled his fingers under her chin, forcing her to tilt her head back a little. "Kitten, you're just too damn tempting for your own good now."

"'Kitten?'" she echoed, hoping to distract herself, or wake herself up, or something. But there again, she found herself lost when his lips ghosted over the pale skin of her throat, and she bit her lip, screwing her eyes shut.

"Mm-hm, yes," he rumbled. "Shilo-Kitty. You're like a little lost pussy cat, trying to figure out her footing. And I'm just a big bad wolf with a taste for cat flesh." A low hissing made her eyes fly open, and he was back at the stove in an instant, leaving her alone, cold, feeling empty as he dropped the square contents of the instant noodle packages into the pot. He glanced over one shoulder, eyes heavy lidded and his mouth curled up dangerously. "Hope you like cheap Italian."

"I like trying new things," she said, and luckily, that got them both laughing.

She watched him when silence fell over them, noting that it wasn't an awkward silence, but a content one. What needed to be said had been said, and though there was potential for more tension in the future, for a few minutes, as he opened the short cans and poured them into a smaller pot she hadn't seen him getting out, they seemed at peace. Or at least…he did. She was still trying to figure out why her crotch felt like it was bruising up, and how, even though his lips had never made contact, she felt her throat tingling.

Eventually the kitchen started to smell…well, wonderful. And Shilo found her stomach cramping, while she watched him closely, eager for him to hurry up and serve whatever he'd made. A few minutes later she was horking down the stuff, the thin, spindly noodles and the tomato sauce, having to get up for seconds after she'd finished the plate. He'd let out a low whistle and chuckled, still eating his helping slowly, not even half finished.

"Did your dad starve you or something?" he asked, point blank. The question surprised her, but what surprised her more was that the answer came easily, as easily as The Graverobber had sent her out alone into the world.

"No," she said, without any rancor in her voice. His brows shot up at that, but he didn't say anything. "I've never had an appetite, really." She poked her fork at the meal he'd made for them. "Until tonight, anyway."

He nodded at that, and as they finished eating, they both went quiet again. Shilo wasn't looking forward to sleeping tonight; the past five nights, she hadn't had to worry about being surrounded by her old life. Now she did. Now, Nathan Wallace was in all of these walls, in the floor boards, hovering over her in the ceiling. She had always felt oppressed by this prison, but now…she felt like she was being suffocated by it.

It was going to be a long fucking night.

* * *

**Author's Notes: *cackles* Ask, and thou shall receive. Not exactly smut, but there's some tension in there now. Y'happy? It only gets worse from here. =P Unfinished, but I'll have more up soon!**


	6. Chiquitita

**I don't own any of the characters. Any themes relating to Repo! The Genetic Opera are (c) to Lionsgate/Darren Smith and Terrance Zdunich. **

**Grilo ahoy!**

**Guide: ***=no memory between the time a paragraph ends and the next starts. ~*~*~*~=change in character. Italicized, centered text that starts at the end of a paragraph=a shorter break in time, the characters do have memories of what isn't written. (Basically, a deleted scene.)**

**Rated M for future Sexual Content, Violence, Gore, and Language.**

The house fucking reeked.

It had been an hour since Shilo had finished helping him clean the kitchen, clearing up some of the damage done by the GENcops. He'd shooed her off, dimly hearing her telling him she was locking her bedroom door, 'so don't try to break in while I'm sleeping.' If he had wanted to, he could have picked the lock, or just kicked the door in. Subtlety wasn't his thing, but knowing she suspected him of sneaking into her room did sort of put a damper on things.

So while she slept, he'd cleared a space for himself in the sitting room, which had once housed a much larger library. It was a circular room, down a hall and situated so that he could see the front door from a certain angle. He pulled the single couch in front of this space, picking at the tassels hanging from the sides of the cushions, wondering at Nathan Wallace's tastes.

_Well, he was the fucking Repo Man. What the hell are we doing in here? Sure, we saw him die, but is he really dead?_ Of course he was. The whole world knew that, least of all him, and he'd been twenty feet from the opera house's back exit when he'd heard the shot ring out. Shilo could never know this, no matter how much she shared with him.

While he readied himself for a few hours of sleep, wishing the girl was closer at hand so they could make a quick run for it if they needed, he couldn't ignore that smell. He should have been used to it, but it was something that you could only ignore so much. Even so, there came a point where the smell of a dead body just made a man want to rip his own nose off.

It only took him a few minutes to find the Repo Man's private operating room.

Seeing him in Nathan's house was…well, it was something, to say the least. Tobias paced for hours along the length of his alleyway, knowing he was invisible, so even in his agitation, he was not seen. What was he doing in there, besides the obvious? He'd taken the girl with him, he knew. He'd seen him snuffling at her neck, which had forced a noise of alarm and anger out of him. It was more a low, frustrated explosion of air, but still, he'd made his disapproval of The Graverobber's attentions clear. He idolized him, sure, but still; a twenty eight year old man preying on a barely-seventeen year old girl was too much.

It just made it more aggravating that this was Shilo he was pawing at. Or, thinking about pawing at. And Tobias was no fool. Even from the shadows across the street, he saw the way that Shilo had leaned into that intimate, lusty caress, and had felt a bit of rage start to build up in his gut. Now, with each footfall, it only increased, churning and building into a great bloody and black, pitiless thing that cared nothing for The Graverobber's suffering when all was said and done.

The straw that broke the camel's back, however, was when he thought of what The Graverobber might do to Shilo if he didn't act at the right moment. Tobias knew for a fact that Shilo was a virgin; when he hadn't been harvesting cheap Zydrate and dodging GENcops, and The Graverobber, he'd watched their house. No young suitor had ever even glanced twice at the house, least of all the young woman's window. And if they had when Tobias hadn't been watching, Nathan had probably chased the poor bastard off.

He couldn't really blame the lecherous drug dealer, though. Shilo was beautiful, like her mother had been, and the tenacious intelligence in her father shone through her elytra brown eyes. Her skin was flawless, and though she was thin, she was a bit graceful, if not a little wobbly at times. Tobias found himself reminded of a puppy, or a kitten, and smiled.

Yes. He would end The Graverobber. And he would do it for Shilo. But first, he would have to get closer to her. And Tobias knew that once he got close to Shilo, he would never, _ever_ let her out of his grasp again.

Dixi had lived a short life, and to be honest, it was not fruitful. The only thing she could say she was proud of doing was being honest to the Wallace girl. It was the only thing she could _be_ proud of. She had been raised as a young girl to have morals, and for a while, to have respect, so in her last moments of life, she had felt a deep pain in her stomach that had nothing to do with the knife that was ripping her gut open.

Frankly, the guilt was worse than her murder.

She had left her only child to rot in the next county over. She didn't even remember what color her son's eyes were; she hoped they had been blue, the color she'd been born with. Somewhere, her child felt his mother's pain, doubled over as he felt something ripping at the core of him, and his adoptive mother soothed him, speaking words of comfort as his whore of a mother was cut open, sliced to pieces with a dirt encrusted blade. Dixi couldn't feel much anymore, just the cold air around her skin, squirming into her veins as she bled out into the alley from the criss crossing of deep gashes covering her from hairline to shin.

The dog leaned over her, bearing its teeth, showing its bloody maw in a sign of dominance. She felt it tug something from within her ribcage, ripping it loose, and her body screamed in protest. The last second of her life was a blinding inferno of pain, as her brain frantically sent pulses to her heart to get it to beat again.

But even a brain can't speak to something that wasn't there in the first place.

So Addix Butler died, with her heart being eaten by a mongrel, and her last conscious thought was:_ I hope Shilo Wallace is having sweet dreams_. And she truly hoped she did.

There was no one in the house when she woke up.

Shilo was frantic when she realized this, after going through every room in the house and thinking _Oh my God, he fucking left me here to rot_.

That thought wasn't necessarily true. He had paid for the food, and the lights were back on, all of them equipped with new bulbs. She found the empty boxes for said bulbs in the trash drum he'd drug in after dinner, but there was no sign of him. Shilo was pacing her room, trying to clean but finding her attempts inefficient as she had a meltdown.

She was alone, in a house that was basically condemned, because of her. The house was probably bugged, and sooner or later, GENcops would swarm the place, crawling all over it and trampling her into the carpet. She would be helpless to stop them, no matter how hard she sobbed, no matter how loudly she screamed.

Daddy wouldn't save her this time.

**Author's Notes: **

**Update as of 07/20/2010**

**So I owe you guys a big apology. I am absolutely floored and humbled by all the feedback, story favorites and follows I'm getting...your reviews make me a happy person, they do. 8D But as of now, this story is put on hiatus. Mostly because I've lost a lot of the inspiration fueling this story. Hopefully, I'll be able to come back to it around fall...at the moment my life is just too busy. Two jobs are just about to do me in mentally.**

**BUT while I'm waiting for that...I'd like to hold a mini contest! Whoever can come up with the best ideas for future chapter names will have a oneshot, 2000+ word story of their pairing of their choosing written and put up here by me. List your chapter names, your story topic, pairing, and I'll judge based on the chapter creativity. Chapters one and two are kind of obvious, a pupa and a larva, the stages of a bug's life cycle, symbolizing Shilo's first tentative steps on her own in life. The third and fourth chapters are inspired by two family based television shows, and symbolize Shilo's and the other characters' struggles with the final Opera Showdown. Five and six were named after both Abba songs and songs from the play/film, _Mamma Mia!_, which I'm a big fan of. They symbolize Shilo coming into sexual and gender awareness, really, and are the first introductions into a newer Shilo.**

**So, what should you choose from? Whatever you like! Just so long as they aren't something boring. Pick a book title, pick some unique names, animal species, whatever you like! Again, based on creativity, the prize will be a one-shot, 2000+ word story featuring a pairing of your choosing. It doesn't have to be Repo! related, either! You can pick something like (just as examples) NarutoXOrihime, VegetaXBulma, SpyroXCynder, what have you. I'm open to pretty much anything, and I'll throw you a bone and make it a mature fiction too. ;)**

**Thank you all for being so patient. I hope to have another story up soon that might tickle your fancy, but it doesn't have to do with Repo!...and I'll give you a hint.,. What demanded the mountains bow down in Disney's _Mulan_?**


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